


Like Suicide, Only Softer

by halloucinogens



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Character Death, Eating Disorders, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Mental Institutions, Schizophrenia, Suicide, The smut is awful I apologize, bear in mind this was written over 5 years ago when I was 17 so it's not nearly perfect, i should have added a major character death tag 5 years ago but again I was 17 and dumb, sorry friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 12:50:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/597961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halloucinogens/pseuds/halloucinogens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When eighteen-year-old Brendon Urie is admitted to a mental hospital, he is forced to deal with his many issues, along with his schizophrenic roommate, Ryan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Suicide, Only Softer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Leathermouth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leathermouth/gifts).



He could hear her screaming. He always could, but he couldn’t help her. He stood frozen in place, paralyzed with fear. It was the same scenario every single time. He could hear her muffled little cries for help; he could hear her calling his name. He could see her little body struggling, trying to find something to hold on to. He wanted to help her, but he couldn’t.

He calls her name, but he can’t hear his own voice. Her cries are faint now, her body barely struggling. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows this isn’t real, but that doesn’t make him any less terrified. It doesn’t make this time any different or any more substantial.

He watches her stop moving, her body now floating down the creek, and his eyes are widened and leaking helpless tears. He still can’t move.

“Ryan!” he hears. “Ryan, what happened?” The voice is louder now, right beside him. It’s a blur of sound and color, shrieks and screams as they see the tiny body floating in the water below. “What did you do?!” they scream at him. “Why didn’t you _help_ her?”

“What did you _do_ , Ryan,” he hears again, but it doesn’t sound like a question, it sounds like defeat, the voice coming out shocked and devastated now. There’s screaming, shoving, and then he’s on the ground. And yet, he still can’t move. There are hands on his shoulders, shaking him over and over, and he feels more than hears the scream come from his mouth. It hits him, the realization of what happened, and how he could have prevented it. He screams again and again, the shaking increasing rapidly until his mind blanks out.

“Ryan!” he hears, but this time it’s a different voice. The hands on him are gentle, shaking him out of his bad dream. “Ryan, it’s okay. You were dreaming. It was just a dream,” the nurse soothes. He’s breathing hard, only just now realizing that he was screaming. His eyes are wet, and he’s shaking, terrified. “It was a dream,” she repeats comfortingly.

“No, it wasn’t,” he shakes his head furiously back and forth, pulling his knees to his chest and rocking slowly. “It was real,” he whispers roughly.

“Was it the same dream, Ryan?” the nurse asks softly. A whimper leaves his lips, and he holds his legs closer to himself. He doesn’t answer her, just nods quickly. “We’ve talked about this,” she reminds him. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes, it was!” he yells, warm tears streaking his face. “It was,” he insists. “It’s always my fault. I could have – could have helped, could have saved her,” he rambles, mostly talking to himself, rocking back and forth faster now.

The nurse sighs resignedly, used to this happening at least twice a month. She hands Ryan a pill, and he eyes it warily.

“No,” he shakes his head. “No, you’re trying to hurt me. Those pills will make me forget,” he says, still shaking his head.

“They’re only to help you sleep,” she assures him, handing him a glass of water. “I promise, they’ll make the nightmares go away. You’ve taken them before, remember?”

Ryan stops moving, staring at her, his mouth tensing and twitching like it always does. He tries to slow his breathing, tries to remember if she’s telling the truth. Do those pills hurt him? Is she lying? “O-okay,” he agrees, bringing the pill to his mouth with a shaky hand, quickly swallowing it and washing it down with the cold water. “No more nightmares?” he asks her with big eyes.

She smiles kindly, patting his hand. “No more nightmares. Now let’s get you back to sleep.” She helps him settle back into bed, sending him one more smile before turning the lights off and exiting the room, shutting and locking the door behind her. Ryan breathes deeply, his eyebrows creasing in concentration as he tries to get a hold on himself. He hums to himself softly under his breath. He’ll be okay.

* * *

“So, it’s Brendon, right?” the receptionist asks, attempting to get some kind of a reaction from the dark-haired boy sitting in the chair across the room from her, staring at her and looking thoroughly unimpressed. He’s slouching, his arms crossed defensively over his chest.

“Yeah,” he drawls, not any kind of expression on his face.

“Well, I think you’re gonna like it here,” she says like she’s talking to a child. “Everyone is really nice, and we even have game rooms and—”

“I’m not a fucking mental case. You don’t need to talk to me like I’m five,” he tells her, mocking her child-like tone. He ignores the fact that since he’s being checked _in_ to a mental clinic, it kind of directly contradicts his statement of not being mental. But he’s not, really. Not like some of the other people here. He has issues; lots of fucked up issues – but he’s mentally stable. He tells himself that, anyway.

“Oh…” she trails off, clearing her throat awkwardly and pretending to be busy with the paperwork on her desk. Brendon kind of feels like snapping her neck.

He knows that his mother is doing the right thing in putting him here. He knows that, but it still sucks. Actually, he doesn’t even have to stay here if he doesn’t want to. He’s eighteen. But he can see how much it hurts his mom to see him like this, so he’ll stay. Maybe he wouldn’t mind getting some help either. He just seriously doubts that this place is going to give it to him. He’s cynical, pessimistic, and completely demented. Who knows, maybe he _is_ crazy.

He didn’t really know what to expect this place to be like, but he thought it would be more… _clinical_. It mostly just looks like a really clean hotel. The flooring is carpet, and if he looks down the hall he can see door after door, each one with a different number on it. There are multiple hallways, each one looking the same. There’s an elevator, so he figures the other floors probably hide the more medical rooms. The ones that are more likely to scare people off.

“Okay, well I guess that’s it,” he hears his mom say. He looks up to see her and some doctor emerging from an office.

“If you can just grab your bags, Brendon, I’ll have Nurse Beth here show you to your room,” the doctor smiles at Brendon. Brendon stands up, a duffel bag on each shoulder, and gives the doctor a look of distaste as he passes by.

“Follow me,” the nurse smiles, and Brendon and his mother follow her to the elevator. “Now, you’re going to be on the third floor,” she says, pressing the ‘3’ on the elevator once they’re all in. Brendon read the sign in the lobby for all the floors, and he runs them through his mind, trying to remember what the third floor was. One is the geriatric ward, two is the recovering patient ward, and three is – three is the juvenile psych ward. They’re sending him to the _psych ward._

“Wait, why exactly am I being sent to the psych ward?” he asks with clearly noticeable petulance, interrupting the silence as the elevator ascends. “I’m not crazy,” he informs the nurse, even though he’s sure that’s exactly what a crazy person would say. She turns around to face him, looking at him somewhat apologetically.

“Well, the psych ward is for more than just mentally unstable patients. It’s for depression, eating disorders…” she trails off, raising an eyebrow at him. He bites his tongue, looking away from her and clenching his jaw. A lot of fucking nerve she has.

“Fine,” he says shortly. She smiles at him and the mood is tense until the elevator stops and the doors open. The nurse walks out, gesturing for them to follow her. This floor looks different. The floors are still carpeted, which Brendon is grateful for – nothing says ‘clinic’ like linoleum floors – and the doors are metal instead of wooden. That makes Brendon feel a little uneasy.

“I think you’ll like Ryan,” the nurse chatters, looking back at him. “I think he’s starting to feel lonely, so maybe this will help him,” she muses. Brendon slows down, creasing his eyebrows.

“Ryan?” he asks, sending a nervous glance to his mother, who smiles back reassuringly.

“Oh, he’s who you’ll be sharing a room with,” Nurse Beth informs him, finally stopping in front of a door with the number ‘117’ across it in black.

“Whoa, wait,” Brendon stops her from opening the door. “Sharing a room?” he repeats incredulously. “Nobody said anything about a roommate.” He definitely didn’t plan on having to deal with living with some fucking psychopath.

“Don’t worry,” she smiles. “He’s nice.”

Brendon huffs, shaking his head and sending his mother a look. “It’ll be fine,” she assures him, smoothing back his hair.

“What’s wrong with him?” Brendon demands, crossing his arms to show that he’s standing his ground until he gets an answer. The nurse looks hesitant, like perhaps she’s not supposed to say anything, but Brendon just raises his eyebrows at her. He has a right to know what kind of person he’s going to be living with.

“Well… Ryan is schizophrenic,” she admits quietly. Brendon’s mouth drops open. _Great_ , his roommate is insane. “But he’s really nice,” she hastily adds. “He’s quiet, keeps to himself. He just – he can’t help it when he has an episode.”

“And how often is that?” Brendon’s mother butts in.

“Sometimes as often as a few times a week,” she admits straightforwardly. Brendon can feel himself becoming increasingly worried that his roommate is going to murder him in his sleep.

“He’s not… dangerous, is he?” Brendon’s mother asks worriedly, but the nurse quickly shakes her head.

“No, Ryan is mostly introverted, and he tends to take his anger out on himself. He—” she cuts herself off, sighing deeply. “Please don’t think that he’s crazy,” she says to Brendon. “He hates when people call him that. He’s fine for the most part. Schizophrenia doesn’t mean he’s going to go on a killing spree. He gets scared, hears voices sometimes, has hallucinations – but he isn’t violent toward others usually. There has only been one incident when he’s hurt someone here, and it was because he was getting an injection,” she explains. “Schizophrenia increases the chance of the patient developing phobias, and Ryan has a lot of them – needles being one. We had to figure that out the hard way,” she finishes with another sigh. “Just, be nice to him. His mind works differently than yours, and the things people say affect him.”

Brendon doesn’t know much about schizophrenia, but he thinks the nurse might be sugarcoating it a bit for his sake. He shrugs, waiting for her to open the door and just get this over with so he can sleep. The door doesn’t make any noise as she pushes it open, and Brendon walks in, taking in the room before him. It’s bigger than he’d expected, and again, it doesn’t really have the feel of a clinic. The walls are a beige color, and the furniture is all dark-colored and wooden. One side of the room contains an empty, full-sized bed with comfortable-looking white bedding, a desk and chair, a nightstand, a dresser, a bookshelf, and a big, cushiony reading chair. Brendon’s eyes trail over to the other side of the room which is identical except for the lanky boy lying back on the bed with a book in his hands. His eyes are wide and focused on the three people in the middle of the room.

“Hello, Ryan,” Nurse Beth smiles warmly. Ryan’s eyes flick from Brendon and his mother to the nurse, and his expression softens.

“Hi, Beth,” he returns her smile. Brendon is kind of shocked by the deep tone of the voice coming from such a frail boy.

“This is Brendon, your new roommate, and his mother, Linda,” she introduces. Ryan’s eyes move back over to Brendon, skittering over him and taking him in, trying to decide if he looks like he’d be trustworthy. Brendon watches Ryan size him up, and he looks guarded, tense, the book long forgotten and loose in his hands.

“R-roommate?” Ryan stutters quietly, turning his confused gaze back to Beth. So they didn’t tell him either.

“Yes, Brendon is going to be sharing your room,” she nods with a comforting smile. “He won’t hurt you, Ryan,” she adds when she notices him glancing warily at Brendon. Ryan hesitantly nods, his posture relaxing a little.

“Hi,” Ryan says in Brendon and his mother’s direction, not looking at them but instead opting to go back to his book.

“Well,” Nurse Beth sighs, “Brendon, you can unpack your stuff. I’ll give you two a minute to say goodbye, and then I’ll show you out, Linda,” she smiles. Brendon’s mom gives her a polite nod back, watching as she exits the room.

“Well, I guess this is it,” Linda smiles. “I’m gonna miss you, sweetie.” She leans forward, wrapping Brendon into a tight hug.

“It’s not like you won’t visit every chance you get,” Brendon reminds her.

“Yeah,” she chuckles a little. “I really hope you can get some help, Bren,” she murmurs, ruffling her son’s hair. “I just want you to be okay again.”

“We’ll see,” Brendon replies, pulling back from his mother.

They say their goodbyes, involving a lot of crying from Linda and a lot a sighing from Brendon, and then before Brendon knows it, he’s standing in the room with his bags hanging from his shoulders with nobody in the room except for a very frightened-looking Ryan. Brendon stays silent, bringing his bags to his bed and starting to unpack them. He didn’t bring much, just his clothes, some books, his iPod – they wouldn’t let him bring his laptop – and a picture of him and his mother that he places on the nightstand.

It doesn’t take him very long to get all of his clothes put away and the few other items placed neatly on the bookshelf. And then he really doesn’t know what to do, because when he turns around, that kid is _still_ staring at him looking scared for his life.

Brendon sits down on his bed with a sigh, raising his eyebrows at Ryan. “I’m not going to slit your throat in your sleep,” he drawls. Ryan’s eyes widen even more at that, and he obviously thinks Brendon is crazy. Ryan does this weird twitch thing where his mouth pulls a little and his fingers jerk.

Ryan opens his mouth to talk, stops, and then opens it again. “What’s wrong with you?” Ryan asks quietly.

 _What’s wrong with **me**_? Brendon thinks. “Um,” he says slowly.

“I mean, why are you here?” Ryan elaborates. Brendon stares at him long and hard, trying to come up with an answer to the question. Why is he here?

He turns over, facing the wall, and mutters, “I don’t know.”

* * *

Brendon wakes up to something bony poking his side repeatedly. He swats at it, but it doesn’t stop until he finally groans and sits up quickly, scaring a skittish Ryan back a few feet. “What?” Brendon asks harshly, rubbing his head that acquired a headache sometime during the night.

“It’s time to eat,” Ryan informs him quietly with wide eyes. He backs away slowly and then darts quickly out the door, leaving Brendon staring confusedly.

Brendon isn’t hungry.

He tries to go back to sleep, but in less than five minutes, a doctor shows up in his room, the same one from yesterday. He knocks on the doorframe and Brendon turns over to face him. “Hey, Brendon,” he smiles. “I’m Dr. Burns, from yesterday? It’s time to eat,” he says.

“I’m not hungry,” Brendon says flatly. The doctor’s smile falters.

“You know you need to eat,” he argues.

“Yeah, I know that, but I’m not _hungry_ right now,” Brendon says, his voice taking on an irritated tone. Dr. Burns seems to be contemplating, standing half in the hallway and half in the room, until he finally sighs resignedly.

“Okay,” he gives in. “But I’d better see you at dinner.” He gives Brendon a stern look, and Brendon just nods back, turning around again and hearing the doctor’s footsteps retreating back down the hall. He rolls out of bed, peering out into the hallway to see that all of the doors are open. They told him yesterday that during the day the patients could leave their rooms. He decides to walk around, get to know the place he’s going to be living in.

At the end of the hall, there’s a lounge. He sees a few people sitting around on couches and chairs, chatting or watching TV. There are a few computers set up against the wall.

He goes back out and down to the other end of the hall, where the reception desk for this floor is. Behind it is the doctor’s office, along with a few exam rooms.

“Can I help you?” the receptionist asks. Her nametag says ‘Valerie.’

“Um, yeah. I was just wondering where the cafeteria is?” he asks. He might as well find out where everything is now.

“First floor, right across from the elevator when you get out,” she smiles. Brendon nods, heading for the elevator. He can already tell he’s going to get tired of using this thing every day.

When he walks into the cafeteria, he’s momentarily frozen in place. There are a _lot_ of people in here and Brendon hates being around people. He sees some people sitting alone, muttering to themselves. He sees older people walking around looking like they don’t know where they are.

He spots Ryan as one of the people sitting alone and he’s nibbling on a sandwich, his nose in a book. Brendon walks over to the cafeteria line, informing the lady that he’d like something to drink. As he’s turning around, he hears a commotion across the room. He whips around to see a crowd of nurses around the table Ryan was sitting at. The woman hands him his drink and he quickly takes it and walks over toward the crowd.

“Get off me!” he hears Ryan shout. “No, stop touching me! No!” he keeps repeating. When Brendon gets closer he can see a doctor struggling to contain Ryan, the boy thrashing and writhing.

“Ryan, you need to calm down,” the doctor orders calmly.

“No! All of you – you all just want to hurt me! Don’t fucking touch me!” he cries when a nurse attempts to take his arm. “Leave me alone, leave me alone, leave me alone!” he repeats over and over, bringing his hands to his hair and pulling on it. Brendon is watching the scene with wide eyes. The Ryan he’d seen last night was _nothing_ like this. He was gentle and skittish, like a frightened animal. This must be one of those ‘episodes’ Beth was talking about.

Ryan starts scratching at his own face, and a nurse quickly grabs his hands and holds them back. “Sedate him,” the doctor mutters to another nurse. She nods, retrieving a syringe from her pocket and uncapping it. Ryan’s eyes widen with panic when he sees the nurse approaching him with the needle. He starts violently struggling and shaking his head back and forth, and Brendon remembers that Beth said he had a phobia of needles. He briefly thinks that it’s kind of cruel to do this when they know how scared Ryan is.

“No, _please_ no!” Ryan begs, and Brendon can see tears falling down his face. Ryan screams when the nurse injects him with the syringe, and he thrashes for a few more seconds before his movements start to slow, his eyelids dropping halfway down. His screams turn to whimpers, and then his eyes close and he’s unconscious, slouching down in the doctor’s arms.

“Let’s get him to his room,” the doctor orders, gesturing for the nurses to help him lift Ryan. Brendon finds himself following them back to his and Ryan’s room and watching them settle the unconscious body from the doorway, unnoticed. He’s kind of stunned, watching silently until a hand on his shoulder makes him jerk, turning his head to see Beth smiling half-heartedly at him.

“So that’s what schizophrenia is,” Brendon comments, letting out a rush of breath. Beth huffs out a laugh, nodding her head.

“Yep. Don’t worry, he’ll be fine when he wakes up,” she assures him.

“Can’t he take some kind of medicine to stop it from happening?” Brendon wonders. There has to be something they could do.

“He does take medicine – antipsychotics. But they can only help so much. Schizophrenia is incurable. There’s nothing that can be done; he’ll have it forever,” she says regretfully. “He usually doesn’t have random outbursts like that, though. It’s usually triggered. But from what they said, he was just eating when it happened,” she shrugs, watching the doctor writing something down on a chart and the other nurses tucking Ryan in.

“Yeah, I saw him. He was fine one minute and then he just started freaking out,” Brendon confirms.

“Well, just try not to scare him when he wakes up,” she advises, patting his shoulder once more before heading back down the hallway.

“Oh, Brendon,” Dr. Burns says, stopping abruptly in front of Brendon who is blocking the doorway. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Yeah, I was just gonna lie down for a couple more hours,” Brendon says, walking past the doctor and into his room.

He does lie down, thinking about how difficult his stay here is going to be. He never thought it would be anything like this. He still doesn’t really know what he thinks of it, but he does know that so far, he’s not getting any help.

* * *

Brendon wakes up for a second time that day, again by Ryan. But it wasn’t intentional this time. Brendon had roused from his sleep when he heard a soft sound coming from the other side of the room. He blinks his eyes open now, noting that it’s dark, and listens carefully. He hears a bit of sniffling, some muffled noises, and he turns over and peers across the room. Ryan is sitting up in his bed, pillow clutched to his chest, crying quietly.

Brendon’s eyebrows crease, and he sits up with a yawn, blinking the sleep from his eyes. “Ryan?” he asks cautiously. Ryan jumps, jerking his head up and wiping his eyes.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he murmurs. Brendon blinks at how normal Ryan sounds, thinking that if he didn’t witness it for himself, he’d be convinced that Beth was lying about the schizophrenia. “You’re still here then.”

“Uh… yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” Brendon asks confusedly. Ryan laughs, but it sounds wrong, hollow.

“I wasn’t sure if you were real or not,” he says, smiling secretively.

“Um…” Brendon starts slowly, not really sure at all how to respond to that. He trails off when he notices Ryan trying to keep himself composed. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks. He normally wouldn’t care – actually he _doesn’t_ care – but he’s curious. Ryan shakes his head a little, shrugging his shoulders.

“I just wish I was normal, you know?” Ryan says quietly, raising his eyes to meet Brendon’s. Brendon can’t really see his features in the dark like this, but it’s like he can almost _feel_ the sadness radiating from across the room.

“I, um…” Brendon trails off, again not really sure how to respond.

“It’s awful, really, being this way,” Ryan continues like Brendon never even said anything. “Sometimes I can’t even differentiate between my mind and reality. I spend so much time in my own thoughts that it’s hard to come back down to earth and realize that this is my life. This clinic, these doctors – that’s my life, forever,” he mumbles. Brendon realizes Ryan is mostly just talking to himself at this point, his eyes unfocused and far away.

“What do you mean ‘forever’?” Brendon asks. “You’ll get out eventually, right?” Ryan looks up at Brendon, a devastating look in his eyes.

“No, I won’t,” he shakes his head, dropping his gaze again. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Brendon is confused, because he wasn’t aware that Ryan _lived_ here, as in he’s not a temporary patient, like Brendon himself.

“Hey, don’t feel bad,” Brendon says, pulling his knees to his chest and offering Ryan a half-smile. He figures the kid could use some cheering up. He feels bad for him. “Everyone here is crazy, right?” he laughs, but Ryan looks up sharply, hurt in his eyes.

“You think I’m crazy?” he asks, his words sounding hollow. Brendon freezes, remembering that Beth said Ryan hates being called that. “I knew it,” Ryan murmurs accusingly, starting to rock back and forth. “Everyone thinks I’m crazy,” he laughs, and Brendon thinks that he’s playing the part well, considering that rocking back and forth and laughing doesn’t exactly do much to help a person look sane.

Ryan brings a hand to his hair and starts pulling on it, still laughing. “If everyone thinks it then it must be true.”

Brendon doesn’t really know what to do – he’s never been in a situation like this. “I don’t think you’re crazy,” he says quickly, because he is really not in the mood to get stabbed. “I was kidding.” Ryan stops laughing, stops moving altogether, and his eyes widen.

“What?” he whispers, but it doesn’t sound like he’s talking to Brendon. He’s staring at nothing, his mouth doing that twitch again. “Stop saying that,” he murmurs.

“But I didn’t…” Brendon starts before realizing that Ryan is just talking to himself, not paying Brendon any attention at all.

“That’s not true!” Ryan cries, bringing his hands back to his hair and tugging, shaking his head quickly. “It wasn’t my fault, shut up!” he says, and Brendon can tell he’s crying from his choked-up voice. Brendon stands up, ignoring the rush in his head and walking over to Ryan.

“Hey,” Brendon says, grabbing Ryan’s shoulder. Ryan jerks and shoves Brendon as hard as he can, causing Brendon to tumble backwards onto the floor.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Ryan says harshly, a wild look in his eyes. Brendon just stares up at him wide-eyed. It’s like he’s a completely different person from five minutes ago. And didn’t Beth say that he wasn’t usually violent?

“I’m… gonna go to bed,” Brendon says cautiously, standing up and walking slowly back over to his bed before crawling into it. Ryan eyes him with a glare, sitting back on his own bed and muttering to himself again.

Brendon turns around, but he can’t seem to even focus on trying to fall asleep after what just happened. He’s not really scared, but it’s just – he doesn’t know if he can deal with living with someone like this.

Then again, Ryan is living with a pretty fucked up person too. He just doesn’t know that yet.

* * *

For the next week, Brendon tip-toes around Ryan. He tries to avoid him the best he can, but it’s kind of hard when they share a room. He has caught Ryan staring at him with these regretful looks though, like he feels bad.

It’s been exactly one week and two days since Brendon has been here, and it’s time for his first therapy session. Apparently, he has to attend one every Wednesday.

He walks into the office he was told to go to – the name plate on the door says ‘Dr. Clark’ – and sitting behind a large oak desk is a middle-aged woman. Why are his therapists _always_ women? She has dull brown hair and a soft-looking smile. She may look trustworthy, but Brendon doesn’t trust anyone.

He trudges over to the cliché chaise lounge that the patients always lie on in the movies and takes a seat, sitting rigid and uncomfortably. He honestly has no idea what he’s expected to talk about in this meeting. If it’s anything to do with what happened, then she can forget it.

He doesn’t talk about that, because talking makes it hard to forget the awful things that you want to keep locked away forever.

Upon the clearing of the woman’s throat, Brendon looks up to meet her eager gaze, a gaze that so obviously says, ‘ _tell me all your secrets_!’

“Hello, Brendon,” she smiles. It’s a smile Brendon recognizes; the one that all the doctors and therapists use with patients. It’s meant to offer comfort, he’s sure, but it only succeeds in creeping him out.

Brendon raises his eyebrows at her, but otherwise doesn’t respond. She sighs, clearly able to tell already that he’s going to be one of _those_ patients – the ones that never answer questions and remain sealed-up and closed-off.

“So, why don’t we start with something simple,” she starts, taking a seat in the big, dusty chair across from him. “How about we talk about your mom?” she suggests. Brendon doesn’t answer immediately, because he doesn’t quite understand what his mom has to do with anything. He knows she’s probably just trying to reel him in by starting out with unimportant things that he doesn’t mind talking about.

“What about her?” he finally responds, keeping his voice level.

“Well, what was it like living with her?” Dr. Clark asks, tapping her pen against her clipboard.

Brendon thinks about the question. He loves his mother; he always has. She’s always taken the best possible care of him, and what happened to him… it wasn’t her fault. She didn’t even know about it, god no. It would have stopped a lot sooner if she had known, but Brendon was always too scared to tell her. He didn’t want her to get hurt. So instead, he continued to take the ‘punishment’ – or that’s what he saw it as anyway, because why else would it have happened to him?

“Mom’s not the problem, here,” he responds, meeting her gaze. “She’s a good mom,” he adds, a little softer.

“And you don’t harbor any vengeful feelings toward her?” she asks, cocking her head. “You don’t put any of the blame on her?” Brendon’s eyes narrow, sharpening. Of course she must know everything that happened to him – it’s in his file. It’s still slightly disconcerting to know that all these people, these strangers, know his entire life story. It makes him feel like all of his feelings, insecurities, fears – it makes him feel like they’re just out in the open, written across his chest for the world to see, to judge him. It’s a suffocating feeling.

“No,” he says tersely. “It’s not—” he cuts himself off, swallowing. “It’s not her fault – it never was. If I had told her, she would have done something,” he admits, lowering his gaze.

“And why didn’t you ever tell her?” Dr. Clark questions.

“Because I loved her,” Brendon says simply, looking at the doctor like she’s stupid. “If something like that was happening to you, would you want to tell your mother, knowing that it would break her heart?” he asks, his throat going a little scratchy with the emotion in his words. He doesn’t think about this stuff much, nor does he want to, but that doesn’t make it any less painful to remember. “She trusted him, okay, she _loved_ him, and I didn’t want to take that away from her.” Brendon stops talking, upset with himself for having revealed so much. He’s not used to telling people how he actually feels. He never has before, and he really doesn’t know if he wants to start now.

“So you continued to suffer the abuse for your mother’s sake?” she asks. She doesn’t look concerned, merely curious, maybe even a bit fascinated.

“Wouldn’t you?” Brendon counters, raising a stubborn eyebrow. Dr. Clark smiles politely, clearing her throat and putting her clipboard away.

“Let’s talk about you now,” she says, ignoring his question. Brendon’s stomach twists with uneasiness. He knows where this is going. “Have you been eating properly?” she leads with. He rolls his eyes. They’re so _predictable,_ these doctors.

“Yes, as you can see, I’m perfectly fine,” he smiles condescendingly.

“On the outside,” she immediately responds, giving him a hard look. “When’s the last time you were hospitalized, Brendon?” Brendon’s breath catches in his throat, and his un-amused gaze turns into a glare.

“Isn’t all that lovely stuff in my file?” he grits through his teeth.

“It is, but I think we should talk about it,” Dr. Clark urges, leaning back into her chair and staring him down until he relents.

Brendon laughs bitterly, shaking his head. “Two months ago,” he answers belatedly. “I was in for a week.” And hopefully he’ll never have to go through that again. He can’t even recall how many times he’s been in and out of hospitals because of the things he did to himself. But he does know that nobody is going to shove a fucking tube down his throat ever again.

“And what was that like?” she asks. Brendon is slightly amused by the typical cliché questions he’s being asked. It’s just like in the movies. _What was that like? And how did that make you feel?_

He’d assumed therapists in real life would at least learn to have a little originality.

“What do you think it was like?” he laughs incredulously. “It was fucking horrible. They strapped me down and forced food into me. Not exactly the most painless thing in the world to have a tube going down your throat.” Brendon immediately grabs at the rubber band on his left wrist, lifting it and letting it snap down against his skin. It’s a technique; it keeps him calm. He continues to pop the rubber band, earning the attention of Dr. Clark.

“Does that make you feel better?” she asks, nodding at his busy hands.

“It makes me not feel like punching every person that looks at me in the face as much, so yeah, I suppose so,” he quips. Dr. Clark’s lips quirk up and she grabs her clipboard again, scribbling something down. Brendon, he fucking _hates_ that. He hates knowing that these strangers write down all their thoughts and opinions about him and his – his _condition_ , and he never gets to know.

“I think that’s enough for today,” she says suddenly, standing up and opening her door. Brendon’s surprised – he’d thought these sessions would take longer than twenty minutes. He stands up and makes his way over to the door. “I’ll see you next Wednesday,” Dr. Clark smiles. Brendon steps past her without a word or a look and stalks down the corridor and to the other side of the floor where the rooms are located.

He’s discovered that this place is also overbearingly boring. Sure, there are lounges and TVs and computers, but he’s definitely always aware that he is in fact in a mental hospital.

When he walks into his room, he’s only mildly surprised to see Ryan in there, sitting on his bed and hunched over a book. A notebook this time, though. Ryan lifts his head upon Brendon’s arrival, looking dazed, like maybe he’s been sitting there in his own little world for quite a while.

“Hi,” Ryan says, sounding eager at first, but then maybe a bit hesitant toward the end. He’s sitting sideways on his bed, his legs folded under himself and his back leaning against the wall. He puts his notebook in his lap and stares at Brendon expectantly.

“Um, hey,” Brendon replies, a bit confused because Ryan hasn’t spoken to him since the incident last week.

“So, I’m really sorry,” Ryan rushes out, looking at Brendon with pleading eyes. “God, I can’t believe I did that to you, I’m sorry. I just – that, um. That wasn’t me, y’know? I mean, it was, but I’m not _always_ that crazy.” he says timidly. Brendon blinks. Again, he’s completely shocked to hear this completely normal, shy, non-violent version of Ryan talking to him like this. It’s fucking with his head.

“No, yeah, it’s cool,” Brendon clears his throat, taking a seat on his own bed and pretending like his mind isn’t reeling. “So, um. What are you writing?” he asks, pointing to Ryan’s notebook. Ryan slams it shut, his mouth doing that twitch.

“Oh, nothing,” he says quickly, obviously flustered. Brendon’s heart skips a beat, afraid that Ryan was going to freak out again.

“Oh… kay,” Brendon says slowly.

“So you forgive me, right?” Ryan asks, looking more than apologetic. “I’m really sorry. I would never purposely do something like that to you, I just…” he trails off, biting his lip.

“Like you said, that wasn’t exactly you,” Brendon supplies, offering a half-smile. Ryan’s face relaxes, and he smiles a little back.

“Right,” he nods, opening his drawer and stuffing his notebook inside. It’s quiet for a moment, a little awkward even, and for the first time, Brendon notices a guitar sitting in the corner of the room.

“Hey, you play?” he asks, gesturing to it. Ryan follows his gaze before laughing a little and shaking his head.

“No, definitely not. I just… it was my mom’s,” he shrugs, the smile slipping off his face. “I wanted her to teach me, but she never got to.” He looks sad now, heart-wrenchingly sad, so much so that Brendon isn’t even sure if he wants to know the story behind that sadness.

“I can play,” he says instead, hoping to lighten the mood.

“Yeah?” Ryan smiles again, reaching over for the guitar and handing it off to Brendon. “Play me something.” The guitar feels smooth and worn in Brendon’s hands. He holds it carefully, plucking at a few strings and remembering when he used to love playing his guitar. He plays something light and happy, something to make Ryan smile maybe. He does smile, watching Brendon’s fingers slide over the strings.

“I used to love my guitar,” Brendon sighs, letting the last few chords ring out in the room before handing the guitar back to Ryan.

“Why didn’t you bring it?” Ryan asks, placing his guitar back in the corner.

“Don’t have it anymore,” Brendon says, leaning back against the wall. He can feel the ‘why’ about to come from Ryan, so he smiles. “I smashed it to pieces and set it on fire,” he informs him, shrugging and still with a smile on his face. Ryan’s eyes widen.

“Why?” he asks dubiously. Brendon considers not answering him for the pure fact that he doesn’t want to talk about it, but he thinks better of it and turns his gaze to the ceiling.

“Because I hated the person who gave it to me,” he answers. He waits for Ryan to call him crazy, to say that he belongs here.

“Oh,” is what Ryan says. “That makes sense,” he nods. Brendon looks at him, kind of amazed. Ryan just smiles. Brendon thinks that it’s not a real smile. He spends a lot of time studying people’s smiles. He’s pretty good at picking out the genuine ones from the fake ones from the apologetic ones from the sarcastic ones from the pained ones. He knows them all. And Ryan’s smile isn’t a real one. It’s one that hides pain, putting on a content exterior and keeping the way he really feels hidden away.

It’s the same smile as Brendon’s.

He considers telling Ryan that he can see through his smile, but he doesn’t know what does and doesn’t set him off. He doesn’t want to take the chance after they’re finally starting to get along.

Brendon watches as Ryan grabs one of his many books from his shelf and settles himself into his chair, humming softly to himself and scanning his eyes over the pages. Brendon doesn’t know why, but the sight makes him incredibly sad. He’s just never seen a person look more _alone_. It hits him then, how true that statement is. Ryan’s alone. Brendon doesn’t know his story, but he knows that Ryan doesn’t have anybody. Ever since Brendon got here it’s just been Ryan and his books.

So that’s when Brendon finds himself asking, “Do you want some company at dinner?”

* * *

The food here isn’t as bad as Brendon had thought. He’s not too keen on food of any sort, really, but considering that, it’s not bad. Ryan told Brendon that his condition sometimes makes him not want to eat. He was reluctant to talk about it, but from what Brendon gathered, Ryan’s paranoia sometimes makes it impossible for him to eat food that other people have prepared for him. Brendon figures he thinks they’re trying to poison him or something.

But Ryan on a normal day is apparently a ravenous bottomless pit. Brendon watches amusedly as the boy who is nearly as skinny as Brendon himself scarves down his mound of food while Brendon nibbles on an apple.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Ryan asks around a mouthful.

“Well, you clearly are,” Brendon jokes, trying to avoid the question. Ryan laughs, taking a drink of his water.

“You didn’t think I was this skinny by choice, did you?” Ryan asks. Brendon ignores the rumbling in his stomach and smiles politely.

There are doctors walking by regularly, so Brendon doesn’t really know how he manages to get away with eating nothing more than half an apple.

* * *

They sit together every day after that, at every meal. Ryan continues to wonder why Brendon never seems hungry, and Brendon continues to wonder where Ryan puts all the food he eats. They find out a lot about each other, learning that they have even more in common than they’d thought. Ryan kind of makes Brendon forget that he’s perpetually angry at the world.

“ _What_?” Brendon gasps. “No, no, no, oh my god, you’re fucking kidding me!” he scoffs at Ryan. Ryan crosses his arms, standing his ground. “Spiderman is _so_ not better than Batman!” Brendon declares, shaking his head at Ryan like he’s crazy. Well, actually. _Ha._

“He so is!” Ryan defends. “He can shoot _spiderwebs,_ Brendon. Batman doesn’t even have any powers!”

“Hey, Batman is loyal and brave as fuck,” Brendon argues, feeling defensive about his childhood hero. “Spiderman can suck my dick.”

“ _Brendon_ ,” Ryan gasps, bringing a hand to his mouth. “You take that back.” Brendon forgets what he was going to say and starts laughing instead at the insulted look on Ryan’s face. Ryan cracks a smile, and Brendon is pleased to see that it’s a real one, reaching his eyes and everything. “Okay, I guess Batman _does_ have a pretty cool costume,” Ryan relents.

“And Spiderman’s webs are _kind of_ awesome,” Brendon rolls his eyes, bumping Ryan’s shoulder with his own.

“But I think we can both agree that Superman is lame,” Ryan adds. Brendon laughs, and it kind of feels weird, all this laughing. He’s not used to it by any means. “Hey, what’s your favorite book?” Ryan suddenly asks. Brendon doesn’t even have to think about his answer.

“The Giving Tree,” he says, remembering how many nights he spent curled up in bed reading that book as a kid.

“Oh my god, why don’t you just stab me in the chest,” Ryan says, putting on an exaggerated pout. “That’s like the saddest book ever! The poor tree loves the kid and all he ever does is take from him.”

“Yeah, but that’s what makes it such a great book,” Brendon reasons. “It teaches the best lesson; you should appreciate what you have while you still have it, because one day it might not be there anymore.” He kind of doesn’t know where this all is coming from, because this isn’t how Brendon usually is. He doesn’t know how to _be_ normal.

“I think my favorite is Romeo and Juliet,” Ryan responds. Brendon starts to smile. “I know that’s cliché, but whatever, shut up. They _died_ for each other. And it was completely stupid because they were kids and barely even knew each other, but still,” Ryan shrugs, looking kind of shy and biting his lip. “You probably think it’s lame, I know.”

“No, it’s… kinda cute,” Brendon grins. He can see Ryan’s fair skin coloring above his cheeks. He’s really kind of feminine-looking, but Brendon doesn’t think that’s a bad thing. He has a small mouth, and his lips are always kind of pink, and he has a button nose and pretty, caramel-colored eyes. His skin is clear and looks like it’s really smooth, like it’d be soft to touch. His mouse-brown hair also looks soft, and he’s always pushing it out of his eyes, or pushing it into his eyes if he’s feeling shy.

Brendon’s so busy staring at Ryan that he doesn’t notice the change in the boy’s expression, how his face has gone carefully solemn and how his mouth is twitching. Brendon doesn’t notice until he hears Ryan muttering under his breath.

“What?” Brendon asks. Ryan ignores him, bringing a hand to his hair and pulling. Brendon has a sinking feeling, because he knows what’s happening.

“No, I don’t want to,” Ryan whispers, staring down at the cafeteria table and knotting his fingers in his hair. “Stop telling me to do those things.” Brendon wonders for a second how scary it must be to hear a voice in your head, telling you to do things. The thought alone is terrifying. “Shut up!” Ryan says loudly this time, attracting the attention of Dr. Burns who is standing nearby. “You can’t make me!” Ryan yells, pulling his hair with both hands now.

Brendon feels panicked, not knowing what to do. Dr. Burns comes over and grabs Ryan’s wrist, and Ryan yanks out of his grasp so quickly that he tumbles back into the floor, crawling back from him. “Don’t touch me!” Ryan yells, and then he hits the side of his head with his hand. “Shut up! Shut up and leave me _alone_!”

“Ryan,” Brendon says calmly, crouching down beside him.

“Brendon, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Dr. Burns warns, and Brendon swiftly ignores him.

“Ryan, hey,” he says gently, inching toward the frightened boy. Ryan looks up sharply, backing away from Brendon and shaking his head.

“No, don’t touch me, no,” he mutters, his chest rising and falling quickly. “I’m not going to let you hurt me.” Brendon doesn’t know if he’s referring to the voice in his head or Brendon himself. His eyes get wide suddenly, and a cry leaves him. “Why would you say that?!” he exclaims, tearing up. “It wasn’t my fault! It wasn’t,” he repeats weakly, curling into himself.

“Ryan,” Brendon nearly whispers. “Ryan, hey, look,” he says, grabbing Ryan’s hand and holding on when he tries to pull back. “I won’t hurt you. We’re friends, right?” he says calmly, watching as Ryan’s face is come over with realization. Ryan stops resisting, leaning forward and wrapping his arms around Brendon, breathing heavily against him. “It’s okay,” Brendon murmurs.

“I’m sorry. Sorry,” Ryan says quietly. Brendon looks up to see Dr. Burns and the nurses looking at him like he’s the eighth wonder of the world. Brendon stands Ryan up, looking at him cautiously. “He won’t leave me alone,” Ryan whispers to him.

“Why don’t we go for a walk?” Brendon suggests. Ryan nods wordlessly, and they make their way out of the cafeteria.

There’s a garden here, which Brendon discovered only a few days ago when Ryan showed him. Ryan said he likes to go there to calm down sometimes, so that’s where Brendon takes him.

They walk along the stone path, Ryan still looking a little shaken and Brendon not knowing quite what to say. He decides against speaking. He knows all too well how much being in the presence of someone who cares can help, even if no words are spoken.

The sky looks dark and cloudy, and there’s hardly any light out. The garden is beautiful, with its brightly colored flowers and fairytale-esque architecture. Brendon can see why it’s Ryan’s favorite place.

He looks over at Ryan, seeing the tormented look on his face and wondering what it all must be like. He still doesn’t really _get_ it, what it does to Ryan. “Hey,” he says quietly, coming to a stop in front of a bench and sitting. Ryan sits too, glancing at Brendon. “I totally understand if you don’t want to talk about this, but… what’s it like?” he asks hesitantly. Ryan fidgets a little but remains composed. He breathes in a little raggedly, turning his gaze back to the ground.

“It’s like… nothing ever feels real,” Ryan says. “Sometimes I can’t tell the difference between reality and what’s in my head, like I said before,” he shakes his head sadly, dejectedly. “I see things that the nurses tell me aren’t really there. And… and _he_ talks to me,” he whispers.

“Who?” Brendon asks.

“I don’t know,” Ryan shrugs, biting his lip. “He won’t tell me his name. But he’s – he tries to make me do awful things. He won’t leave me alone until I do them.” He looks up at Brendon, and Brendon can’t help but look a little freaked out. Obviously this whole ‘hearing voices’ thing is a lot more serious than he’d thought.

“What kind of bad things does he tell you to do?” Brendon asks, partly because he’s simply curious and partly because he wants to know how dangerous this ‘voice’ is.

“He tries to make me hurt people, and he tells me to lie, to steal, to hurt _myself_ ,” Ryan chokes out. Brendon puts a hand on his shoulder. “But I usually don’t do what he says because I know it’s wrong. But when I don’t, he won’t leave me alone. He yells and talks about – about _her_ for hours, tells me it’s my fault what happened to her,” he says, and he’s nearly crying now. Brendon has no idea what he’s talking about, but all he can do is offer comfort.

“What happened to who?” Brendon questions, making sure to keep his voice quiet. But Ryan freezes at that question, his shoulders going tense under Brendon’s hand.

“Nobody,” he shakes his head, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt before abruptly standing up. “Come on, I’m tired, let’s—” he’s cut off as he walks into the path of another patient. “Sorry,” Ryan apologizes to the boy with stringy black hair.

“Hey, hey, hey, better watch yourself,” the guy half grins, a crazy look in his eyes. “If you would have gotten my shirt dirty I would have had to hurt you,” he cackles, and somehow Brendon doesn’t think he’s kidding.

“Um, I – sorry, yeah,” Ryan says, backing away from the guy.

“Gerard, Gerard, my name is Gerard,” he nods quickly. “Some people call me Gee but I don’t want you to call me Gee because only my friends can call me that, like Frankie. Where is Frankie? Frank, Frank, where is Frank?” he sing-songs, darting his eyes around looking for the aforementioned Frank. “Fraaank!” he calls into the nearly empty garden. “Do you know where my Frankie is?” he says to Brendon. “You can’t have him, you know. He’s my Frank, mine,” he says defensively. Brendon doesn’t know whether to keep talking to the guy or get the hell away from him.

“Um,” Brendon starts, looking to Ryan for help. Ryan looks back at him with wide eyes, shrugging. “Sorry, I haven’t seen Frank,” Brendon smiles. Gerard stands in front of Brendon, his left eye twitching, and then backs away with a creepy smile.

“That’s okay, I’ll find him. Frankie loves me, so he can’t be too far away. He needs me so I have to go find him now, gotta find Frank. I’ll find him, don’t worry. Frank, Frank, Frank. Oh remember, I’m Gerard, Gee for short, but you can’t call me Gee, so I’m Gerard, Gerard who is going to find Frankie,” he says quickly before turning around and walking off. Brendon’s mouth opens and closes.

“For a minute I forgot that there are actual _crazy_ people in this place,” Brendon laughs. Ryan chuckles quietly, looking to the ground.

“Even after meeting me?” he asks softly.

“You’re not crazy, Ryan,” Brendon says just as soft. “You’re just… different,” he shrugs, and he means it. After getting to know Ryan a little better, he doesn’t think he’s crazy; he’s just misunderstood.

“Thanks,” Ryan smiles. He looks like maybe he wants to hug Brendon – and Brendon doesn’t do hugs, but he thinks maybe he’d make an exception – but he doesn’t. He just continues to smile and starts to walk along the path back into the building. Brendon follows, falling into step beside him.

He’s only been here for a little over two weeks now – only been friends with Ryan for a week – but it feels like he’s been here for months. He hasn’t really decided yet if he likes it or not. He knows that he hates constantly being around doctors and nurses – it reminds him of being in the hospital, and that’s something he tries not to think about.

“Hi, boys,” a friendly voice says, bringing him from his thoughts. Beth approaches them, a small, skittish looking boy trailing behind her and staring at his feet.

“Hi,” Ryan smiles. Brendon has a feeling that Ryan looks up to Beth as a mother-type. She’s probably been there for him since he arrived. Which reminds Brendon, he has no idea how long Ryan’s been here. He’ll have to ask.

“I see you two are getting along nicely,” she smiles that warm smile that only women have the capability to produce.

“Yeah, actually,” Brendon agrees, glancing again at the short, dark-haired boy behind Beth. She notices, putting an arm around the boy’s shoulders and bringing him closer.

“This is Frank,” she introduces. Frank. So this must be that crazy guy’s friend. “Frank, this is Brendon and Ryan.” Frank doesn’t look up, doesn’t say anything, just lifts his hand in a little wave. “Well, Frank doesn’t really talk to anyone, at all, other than—”

“Gerard,” Brendon supplies. Frank looks up at the name, and Brendon notices that his eyes look a little lost.

“Well, yes,” Beth laughs a little. “How did you know?”

“Oh, um. Gerard, we just met him a minute ago,” Ryan explains. “He said he was looking for Frank.”

“Well, I was actually just helping Frank here to find Gerard,” Beth says.

“He went that way,” Brendon says, pointing to the direction that Gerard wandered off to. Frank’s lip stretch into the tiniest of smiles, and he nods and gives another little wave before walking off in the direction Brendon pointed. Beth watches him go with a sigh.

“Breaks my heart, that boy,” she shakes her head sadly. Upon the boys’ questioning looks, she elaborates. “His father murdered his mother a few years ago, right in front of the poor boy. His dad went to jail and he didn’t have any other family. He hasn’t been the same ever since,” she explains, clearly sympathetic to Frank. “I remember when he first came here, about a year before you did, Ryan, and he was so closed-off to everyone. Didn’t speak a single work until Gerard came along a few months later. I don’t know why, but he clings to that boy like his life depends on it. They’re inseparable,” she says, a slight smile working its way onto her face.

“But…” Brendon starts. “Gerard’s so…”

“Mentally unstable?” she supplies with a short laugh. “Yeah.” Brendon’s never thought the term ‘opposites attract’ to be more fitting. “Well, you two should get to bed,” she raises an eyebrow, tapping her watch. She smiles once more before walking away.

“Brendon?” Ryan says as they walk back into the building and toward their room.

“Yeah?”

“You never told me why you’re here,” he points out. Brendon’s nerves tingle. He kind of likes being friends with Ryan, and he doesn’t want to scare him off, which is exactly what he’ll do if he tells him why he’s here.

They arrive at their room, and Brendon goes straight to his bed. “I’m really tired, um. Yeah,” he says, ignoring Ryan’s question.

“Oh, yeah, okay,” Ryan says, obviously wanting an answer but letting it go for now. “Goodnight,” he says, crawling into his own bed.

Brendon sighs. “Night.”  
  


* * *

Wednesday. Therapy session number two. Brendon can’t say he’s very excited after last week. He walks into the office and takes a seat, fully intending to not give her any answers at all this time. She looks stressed, like she’s had a long day.

“Hi, Brendon, how are you?” she asks tiredly.

“Fine,” he says shortly.

“So,” she says, going into therapist-mode. “I noticed you’ve been spending quite a lot of time with your roommate, Ryan?” she asks. He doesn’t really see what this has to do with anything.

“Yeah, so? We’re friends,” he shrugs. She smiles that secretive smile that he hates.

“It’s good to know you’re both getting along so well,” she nods, scribbling on that fucking clipboard. “I saw you at lunch today,” she starts casually, and Brendon thinks, _oh great_ , because he knows all too well that if she was watching him at lunch then she knows he ate nothing more than two bites of a sandwich.

“And?” he prompts, swallowing.

“You’re not eating, Brendon.”

“Yes, I am,” he says too quickly. But he’s not lying. He _is_ eating, maybe not as much as they’d like, but it’s a hell of a lot more than he used to. “I’m just – I don’t get very hungry,” he shrugs, slumping farther into his seat. She’s looking at him doubtfully, clearly unconvinced.

“I think I’m going to have to have a nurse start monitoring your meals,” she says, writing something down. Brendon sits up straight in his seat, gaping at her.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he says disbelievingly. “That’s ridiculous! I _am_ eating, ask Ryan!”

“The mood swings, that’s one thing right there that tells me I’m right,” she raises an eyebrow.

“They aren’t _mood swings_ , they’re just my reaction to you being a fucking moron!” Brendon snaps.

“Calm down,” she says, gesturing for him to sit back. “Brendon, you have to understand that I only have your best interest in mind here.” Brendon scoffs, rolling his eyes. Like he hasn’t heard that before.

“You don’t care about me, you’re just doing your job,” he says bitterly. Not that he gives a damn who does and doesn’t care about him.

“That’s not true,” she says gently. “Brendon, I want to help you. I want you to overcome all the obstacles you’ve had to face. You had to grow up very fast, and you don’t even know what it’s like to have a normal life,” she stresses, and honestly, she isn’t doing a whole lot to make him feel better about himself.

“Look,” he starts angrily. “I –”

“Dr. Clark,” a nurse bursts into the room, breathing hard, obviously having just ran there. “It’s Gerard again,” she says. Dr. Clark sighs, rubbing her temples with her fingers as if she’s dealt with this many times before.

“I’ll be right back,” she says to Brendon, getting up and following the nurse quickly out of the room and shutting the door behind her. Brendon twists back around in his seat and slumps down again. It’s not that Dr. Clark is someone he doesn’t like – it’s mostly just doctors in general that he doesn’t like, and she’s always saying these things that make him feel miserable, even though he’s sure she doesn’t mean to. He doesn’t exactly want to be reminded of his past, let alone tell her about it. It’s not going to help him get over it. It’s not. Brendon works differently, and he gets over things by forgetting about them, pushing them out of his mind. Nobody understands that.

After five or so minutes, Brendon starts getting bored, so he gets up and looks around. They are various framed documents hanging on the wall behind Dr. Clark’s desk, nothing too interesting. He picks up a picture sitting on her desk and examines it to see an image of Dr. Clark and a little blonde girl who Brendon assumes is her daughter. He places it back on the desk with a bored sigh, darting his eyes around the room. They land on a big file cabinet beside the desk.

Curious, Brendon makes his way over to it. He automatically opens the one at the bottom labeled ‘Q-Z.’ Of course, they’re the patient’s file, as he’d thought. He scrolls through them until he finds ‘ _Urie, Brendon_.’ He takes it out, flipping it open to see a number of pages with his picture paper-clipped to the front. As he flips through them, he also notices that Dr. Clark has made copies of her notes on him and added them to his file. He doesn’t know how much time he has so he quickly walks over to the copier by her computer and makes a copy of his files, one page at a time. His heart is pounding with the adrenaline rush that you get whenever you’re doing something you shouldn’t be doing, but he wants to know what she’s been saying about him, so he continues to make the copies.

When the last page finishes, he folds them up and puts them in the pocket of his hoodie, swiftly placing his file back into the cabinet. He’s about to close it when one file that is slightly sticking out catches his attention. ‘ _Ross, Ryan_.’ He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t, but his curiosity gets the better of him, so he pulls the file out and opens it. He immediately notices that Ryan’s file is at least twice the size of his own, filled with papers and notes and pictures. Brendon knows he’s violating Ryan’s privacy, but he doesn’t stop.

The first page clearly tells about his conditions:

_Ryan Ross, age nineteen, admitted at the age of fifteen for:_

_\- Paranoid/disorganized/catatonic schizophrenia_

_Patient’s other conditions include:_

_\- Severe anxiety_

_\- Panic disorder_

_Many severe phobias are present including:_

_\- Aichmophobia (needles)_

_\- Astraphobia (thunder & lightning)_

_\- Claustrophobia (confined spaces)_

_\- Isolophobia (solitude; being alone)_

_\- Ligyrophobia (loud noises)_

_\- Agoraphobia (open spaces – specifically open water in this patient’s case)_

_Patient history:_

_Ross developed and was diagnosed with schizophrenia at the age of thirteen. At the time, he lived with his mother, his only remaining family. Upon discovering Ross’ condition, his mother-_

Brendon stops reading when a sound on the other side of the door attracts his attention. He shuts the file and puts it back in place, closing the drawer as quietly as he can, and then darts back to his chair just as Dr. Clark opens the door. His heart is pounding in his chest right now.

He had no idea Ryan had so many problems. He can’t even imagine what it was like for him to be alone before Brendon came here. He must’ve felt scared all of the time. Maybe he’s scared even now, alone in their room.

“Sorry, Brendon,” Dr. Clark says, sounding more than exhausted. “Why don’t we just let that be it for today, alright? I have a lot to do,” she says. And well, she doesn’t have to tell him twice. He nods, standing up and bounding over to the door, eager to get back to his room.

When he gets back, Ryan is, of course, in his bed reading. He smiles when Brendon enters, dropping his book and sitting up straight. “How did it go? Any better than last time?” he asks.

“We didn’t talk much,” Brendon shrugs. “She had to go deal with Gerard or something.” He doesn’t even think about mentioning that he went through Ryan’s file. There’s no telling how Ryan would react to that.

“That’s good. Hey, um,” Ryan starts, twisting his hands together in his lap and biting his lip. “Do you wanna maybe watch a movie in the lounge?”

“Yeah, sure,” Brendon agrees easily, and Ryan relaxes back into a smile, hopping off his bed and following Brendon out.

The lounge is pretty much empty, with the exception of a skinny boy with glasses sitting in the corner reading a comic book. Ryan and Brendon claim a big couch in the back. “You can pick the movie,” Brendon offers, settling back into the cushions. Ryan walks over to the selection of DVDs stacked up on a shelf near the TV, scanning over them before choosing one. Brendon isn’t paying much attention, instead watching the way Ryan instantly curls into himself, pulling his legs close and wrapping his arms around them.

When Brendon finally looks at the screen, he’s a bit surprised to see _Donnie Darko_ playing. He darts his eyes cautiously to Ryan. “Um, isn’t this movie about—”

“Yep,” Ryan interrupts, staring unwaveringly at the screen. Brendon closes his mouth, staring for a second longer before turning back to the screen. He’s always liked this movie. It’s kind of fucked up, a little confusing when you watch it for the first time, but it makes you think.

Brendon eventually finds himself sprawled out on the couch with his legs over Ryan’s, but Ryan doesn’t seem to mind. He’s been drawn into the movie, watching as Donnie burns the house down. His mind flares with memories; fire, smoke, the smell of flesh – not something he likes to think about. Although sometimes when he’s feeling particularly vengeful, the memory brings comfort. He blinks his eyes back into focus when Ryan pokes him.

“What?” Brendon asks, clearing his throat.

“I said are you ever going to answer my question?” Ryan repeats.

“What question?”

“What you’re here for,” Ryan answers, looking imploringly at Brendon. And Brendon really wants to tell him, he does. But he’s not ready for Ryan to find out how crazy he really is.

So he stays silent.

* * *

Ryan doesn’t give up on his quest to find out why Brendon’s there; he continues to question him about it every single day, and Brendon is running out of ways to avoid answering the question. He went through the copy he made of his file. Apparently Dr. Clark thinks he’s ‘a very disturbed young man with violent tendencies.’ Well, she’s not entirely wrong.

He isn’t avoiding Ryan per se, but he’s not exactly making his presence known either. He’s in their room, lying on his bed reading, when Ryan walks in with a determined look on his delicate face. It’s kind of endearing.

“Brendon, why are you here?” he asks, standing in front of Brendon’s bed with his hands on his hips. Brendon looks up, taken aback.

“Um, because I felt like reading?” he says stupidly, and Ryan makes an impatient noise.

“You know what I mean,” he stresses, giving Brendon a hard look. Brendon sighs, setting his book aside and closing his eyes for a moment. He knows he can’t avoid the question any longer. As much as he’s dreaded it, it’s time to be honest.

“Here,” Brendon says, reaching into the drawer by his bed and grabbing the copies he made of his file before handing them to Ryan. “My file,” he explains upon Ryan’s confused look. Ryan slowly sits down beside Brendon, looking hesitant. “Go on,” Brendon urges, nodding to the papers. Ryan bites his lip, looks down, and Brendon’s insides are a mess as he looks down at his own papers:

_Brendon Urie, age eighteen, admitted at the age of eighteen for:_

_\- Bulimia/Anorexia nervosa_

_\- Attempted suicide_

Brendon swallows around the lump in his throat when he hears the sharp inhale from Ryan as he reads the words, his grip on the papers tightening.

_Patient’s other conditions include:_

_\- Depression_

_\- Anxiety_

_\- Post Traumatic Stress Disorder_

_Patient history:_

_Patient is a victim of sexual and physical abuse as a child by his father, who was later arrested and sentenced to ten years in prison. Patient’s father was released from prison early after only five years and was later killed in a house fire in the Urie’s home. Bulimia started with the patient when his father was released from prison and has been present ever since._

Ryan puts down the papers, reading no further, and looks at Brendon with sorrowful eyes. Brendon looks down, still unsuccessful in swallowing down the lump.

“Oh my god, Brendon,” Ryan whispers. “I’m _so_ sorry.” He tentatively places a hand on Brendon’s shoulder, squeezing. And Brendon doesn’t want to hear pity and apologies. He’s heard them his whole life and he knows they’re worthless.

“When I was a kid,” Brendon starts, staring off into space and ignoring Ryan’s sympathy. “I was the happiest kid in the world. My family was perfect,” he laughs bitterly. “And then when I was seven, my dad raped me for the first time.” He hears a choked sound come from Ryan at the bluntness of his words, the hand on his shoulder tightening. “He told me that it was ‘what good boys did for their fathers’. I cried but he wouldn’t stop,” he shrugs, his voice sounding emotionless and hollow. Brendon’s never talked about this out loud, to anyone, other than when he told his mom. “It went on for three years. He started hitting me too, because I started fighting him. I would try to get away and he’d hold me down, slam my head into the floor, anything to keep me there. He raped me over and over until I was ten and finally told my mother,” he says. His voice sounds a little scratchy now from the emotion that it lacked before finally seeping in. Ryan looks horrified, to say the least.

“Brendon…”

“And I told my mom,” he continues. “She immediately called the cops, and of course there was physical evidence of everything, so he was put in prison. My mom divorced him. But I never could forget about what he did to me,” Brendon shakes his head, still staring at a space on the wall. “I had nightmares about it – I still do, every night. He got out of jail when I was fifteen. He came back, trying to be in my life again. I couldn’t take it, seeing him like that, acting so _normal_ like he hadn’t completely ruined my life.” Brendon draws in a shaky breath, accompanied by Ryan’s own shallow ones. “I stopped eating because I needed something to control in my life,” he laughs, not at all a happy sound. “Nothing was going right and I wanted to be able to decide what happened to me for once, so I just stopped eating. And having that power over myself,” he says, finally meeting Ryan’s teary eyes, “that was the best part. It felt good seeing how far I could push myself; how long I could go without eating before I passed out. But then I started getting too thin and my mom noticed,” he says quietly.

Ryan is tense beside him, still keeping a hand on him and biting his lip.

“She forced me to go to the hospital, and I was hospitalized. I got out eventually but I still didn’t eat. It was easy enough to hide it from her. But then one day my dad showed up, and my mom was out,” he recalls. “He kept saying all this bullshit about being a new person and about how he was changed and how sorry he was for what he did to me,” Brendon laughs. “I couldn’t take hearing it anymore.” He looks right at Ryan with a smile on his face and laughter bubbling from him. “So I knocked him out with a vase and set the house on fire,” he laughs again. Ryan’s mouth drops open, his eyes widening in shock as he realizes that Brendon is serious… and he’s laughing about it. “I killed my dad,” he says, and the way his voice is so eerily calm gives Ryan chills.

“I killed him,” he continues, “and I totally got away with it.” He starts laughing again. Ryan is staring at him crazily, wondering where this side of Brendon came from. “I told the cops he was trying to hurt me and a candle got knocked over, and they bought it. Nobody knows but you now,” he says, his laughter finally subsiding. He feels weirdly relieved having told somebody about what he did. Now maybe he won’t have to keep it so bottled up anymore. It doesn’t cross his mind that Ryan will tell; he knows he won’t.

“Of course, that didn’t make my problems go away,” he continues, staring at the floor. “I still wanted to fucking die. My life was still shit. So I tried to make it go away,” he says softly. “I took some pills, but my mom found me in time and took me to the hospital,” he shakes his head, sounding regretful. Ryan realizes that Brendon sounds regretful because he may still want to be dead. And as scary as the thought is, Ryan kind of gets that. No, he _definitely_ gets that.

“And so here I am,” Brendon sighs, looking at Ryan simply, like he didn’t just confess to murdering his father.

“I…” Ryan starts, sounding not sure what to say. “I should probably be scared, but I’m not?” he says, an upward inflection at the end. He laughs a little nervously, still chewing at his lip.

“It’s not like I’m going to hurt you,” Brendon says, and he means it. He’s started to care about Ryan, he wouldn’t hurt him. Ryan gives him a little smile, and Brendon really thought he’d be freaking out about this, but he seems weirdly calm knowing that Brendon’s a murderer.

“I didn’t think you would,” Ryan says softly, moving his hand from Brendon’s shoulder to his knee. “I, um,” he scrunches his eyebrows. “I – I trust you,” he says, sounding like it’s hard for him to say. Brendon can see why – Ryan doesn’t trust anyone.

“You know what would be good?” Brendon says, glancing at Ryan. “If we could just not talk about this. I really hate thinking about it.”

“Yeah, okay,” Ryan agrees, handing Brendon the papers back. “For the record though,” he pauses before going back to his bed, “I really am sorry that happened to you.” He sounds so sincere that Brendon doesn’t even think twice before believing him. He starts to turn around again, but stops. “I, um. I really wanna tell you something, but… but I-I can’t,” he stutters, looking worrisome.

“Why not?” Brendon frowns. “You just said you trusted me.”

“No, I do, it’s just… if I tell you why I can’t then you’ll think I’m crazy,” he whispers. Brendon smiles amusedly.

“Ryan, if I were going to think you were crazy, don’t you think I already would have by now?” he jokes. Ryan smiles a little before it disappears again.

“He won’t let me tell you,” he admits quietly. Brendon wonders who ‘he’ is for a split second before he realizes Ryan means his ‘voice’.

“Oh,” Brendon breathes. “Why?”

“He says I can’t or he’ll make me do things, and I _can’t_ , Brendon,” he says pleadingly. “He’s so awful sometimes, and I’m just really scared.” Brendon stands up and without thinking about it, wraps his arms around Ryan.

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay,” Brendon soothes. “I’ve got you, it’s okay.” Ryan clings to him, breathing harshly into his neck. “Come here,” Brendon says, pulling Ryan down onto his bed with him. He’s only trying to be friendly, but his stomach twists strangely at this new closeness between them.

“I’m just tired of being scared _all the time_ , Brendon,” he admits, fisting his hands in Brendon’s shirt.

“I know, I know,” Brendon mumbles, rubbing Ryan’s back. “I promise it’ll be okay.”

He hopes it’s not an empty promise.

* * *

Brendon can tell something bad happened as soon as he walks out of his room the next day to go to dinner. There are nurses running around everywhere and people whispering to each other. He makes his way into the lounge, surprised to see it filled with people and buzzing with conversation. He spots Beth helping a patient nearby.

“Hey,” he says to her, and she looks up. Her hair is messy and her clothes are unkempt – she’s clearly been busy.

“Oh, hi, Brendon,” she greets quickly.

“What’s going on?” he asks. “Why is everyone running around?” He looks pointedly at the people freaking out, bombarding the nurses with questions. Beth sighs, runs a hand through her frizzy hair, and finishes helping the patient with whatever he needed before turning back to Brendon.

“Someone got seriously injured, and we don’t know if they’re going to make it,” she says quietly, leading Brendon to a less crowded area of the room.

“What happened?” Brendon asks. “Was it someone on this floor?”

“No, no, nobody you know, but,” she stops, chewing on the inside of her lip. “Well I might as well tell you now. Okay, do you remember Gerard?” she asks. Her face is the kind of face you have right before you tell someone really awful news – that almost-cringe.

“Yeah,” he answers. It couldn’t have been Gerard, because he’s on this floor.

“Last night, he… well, he stabbed another patient,” she discloses to him in a near whisper.

“ _What_?” Brendon says loudly, his eyes going wide because oh my god, he knew that guy had a serial killer vibe.

“Shh!” Beth shushes him, looking around frantically. “We don’t know exactly what happened, or why he even did it, but he apparently stole a knife from the cafeteria and stabbed the patient with it three times in the stomach. We’re lucky he’s even still alive,” she shakes her head sadly.

“Man, that guy has issues,” Brendon says, ignoring the fact that he killed his own father, but he feels no guilt over that whatsoever.

“Yeah, well now he’s been put in solitary confinement. He has no access to any patients and he’s not allowed out of his room for now,” she explains.

“Wait, you mean he’s not going to jail?” Brendon asks incredulously. He’d sure be in jail if anyone knew that his father’s death was not an accident.

“Well, with special cases like these, no. Gerard is completely mentally unstable. He can’t understand that what he did is wrong,” Beth says, sighing in frustration when another patient calls her over. “I need to get back to work,” she says, giving Brendon’s shoulder a pat before walking off.

“Hey,” a small voice says, and Brendon turns around to see that kid, Frank.

“Uh, hey,” Brendon says to the small, short boy. “Wait, I thought you didn’t talk?”

“Um, I don’t usually, but,” he bites his lip, obviously frustrated. “They won’t tell me what’s going on,” he almost whispers. He sounds so sad that Brendon almost wants to hug him or something. “I know what Gerard did… but where is he? I just. I really need him,” he begs. Brendon has no idea why Frank’s chosen him of all people to speak to, but he knows that he’s not going to like what he’s about to tell him.

“They, um,” Brendon clears his throat. “They put him in isolation,” he says almost apologetically. “He can’t have any visitors.” Brendon knows what’s going to happen before it even does. He sees Frank’s eyes widening, his bottom lip shaking the slightest bit, and then the first tear emerges and falls down his face. God, why is everyone always crying around Brendon?

“But. But I need him,” he says through his now shaky voice. “I can’t – I can’t be by myself. He’s the only friend I have.” There are steady tears flowing now, his eyes red and puffy, but he’s not making any noise.

“I’m, um, I’m sorry,” Brendon offers weakly. If there’s something he sucks at, it’s consoling people.

“Thanks for telling me,” Frank says, letting out a sob and walking away. Brendon watches him go sadly. It’s not fair. He’s a nice guy.

He walks down the hall and into the elevator, back on his way to the cafeteria now.

When he gets there – after sharing the elevator with the creepiest old woman he’s ever seen in his life that kept asking ‘where’s Katelyn?’ – Ryan is already at their table, and he already got Brendon’s food. Brendon sits down, glancing at the full tray of food before grabbing a grape off of it and nibbling on it. Ryan’s watching him steadily, unlike usual, and oh right, that’s because he _knows_ now. Great.

“Don’t start this,” Brendon says sharply, throwing down a roll that he’d picked up. Ryan flinches, obviously taken aback.

“What?” Ryan asks timidly, looking hurt at Brendon’s tone.

“Ryan, just because you know now doesn’t mean you get to watch what I’m eating just like every-fucking-body else,” Brendon snaps. Why does everyone else care so much what he does with his own fucking body?

“I… I mean, I just don’t want you to get sick, that’s all,” he says. Brendon scoffs, so Ryan hurries to continue. “I can’t believe I never noticed, but you’ve hardly eaten since you’ve been here.” Brendon’s heard that so many times. ‘ _You’re so skinny! You need to eat more! I never see you eat!_ ’ He wishes it would just stop.

“You don’t understand, okay?” he tells Ryan. “It’s the only thing that keeps me sane.”

“I’m not trying to control you,” Ryan assures him, looking worried, “I just- what if you hurt yourself? I don’t want that to happen,” he says in a small voice. Brendon, of course, has heard this _so_ many times, but when Ryan says it… it’s the first time he actually believes it. So, with one last glance at Ryan’s worried eyes, he hesitantly picks up the roll again and eats a small piece.

“I’m eating, okay?” he tells Ryan, who has a smile forming on his face. Brendon knows that he wouldn’t under any circumstances do this for anyone else.

“Good,” Ryan mutters, looking down at the table, but he’s still smiling. Brendon just fakes his own smile and tries to keep the food down.

They keep up small talk throughout dinner, like always, but Brendon feels different now. He doesn’t normally have that tingly feeling in his stomach around Ryan. And he also doesn’t normally try so hard to make him smile.

A patient walks by just as Ryan is standing up, bumping into him.

“Get out of my way,” the guy snaps.

“You ran into me, Dallon,” Ryan mutters, rolling his eyes. He told Brendon about Dallon. He’s basically an asshole who’s here because he beat up his girlfriend and claimed that he had mental problems to avoid going to jail.

“And what are you gonna do about it?” he asks, turning back around with a smirk. “Drown me?” Brendon frowns at the weird remark, and Ryan goes eerily still, his eyes fixed on Dallon with a glare that Brendon never wants directed at him.

“What did you say?” Ryan’s voice rings out cold and harsh, completely unlike his usual soft monotone. His mouth does that twitch, and Brendon’s figured out what it means when he does that. It means he’s hearing the ‘voice.’ Ryan shoves Dallon suddenly, with strength that Brendon wouldn’t have guessed Ryan could muster, and Dallon falls backwards, staring up with wide eyes.

“God, I forgot you were a fucking schizo,” Dallon snarls, standing back up, and that just pisses Ryan off more. He lunges at Dallon, hitting him and clawing at him. Brendon tries to pull Ryan off, but Ryan throws a careless fist to his face, effectively causing him to stagger back. A doctor approaches, yelling for Ryan to stop.

“Get off him, Ryan!” he yells, pulling him away. Ryan tries to get out of his grasp, but he’s doing nothing but struggling uselessly. Dallon is lying on the floor, clutching his stomach and coughing, while Brendon is rubbing his aching jaw where Ryan hit it.

“Come on, I need him sedated,” Dr. Burns says when Ryan won’t stop struggling.

“No, no, no, please!” Ryan cries, struggling harder. “Please don’t!” His breathing goes erratic when he sees a nurse pull out a needle.

“Wait, stop!” Brendon interferes. “Don’t, please. Look how terrified he is,” he points out.

“Brendon, stay out of this,” Dr. Burns warns.

“No, look, I can calm him down, just—” he grabs Ryan, pulling him until the doctor lets go, and Ryan practically falls into Brendon, sobbing and shaking.

“Ryan, it’s okay,” he murmurs, rubbing his back. “Just calm down, it’s okay.” Gradually, Ryan stops shaking and gasping, until he’s just breathing hard. Again, the doctor is amazed by how easily Brendon is able to calm Ryan.

“Maybe if you actually _tried_ to calm him down instead of just sticking a needle in him every time, it wouldn’t be so bad,” he says shortly to him before taking Ryan and heading back to their room.

* * *

Back in their room, Ryan doesn’t say anything. He just walks over to Brendon’s bed and sits on it, leaning against the wall and clutching Brendon’s pillow. Brendon walks over and takes a seat beside him, sighing.

“I’m so sorry I hit you,” Ryan says quietly, glancing at Brendon’s bruised jaw.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m fine,” Brendon waves him off.

“He just made me _so mad_ , I just.” Ryan stops with a frustrated huff, closing his eyes. “It all started when I was thirteen,” Ryan starts out of nowhere. Brendon sits up straighter. Is Ryan finally going to tell him everything? “That’s when I developed schizophrenia. Long story short, my mom couldn’t handle it. She didn’t want a crazy kid,” he says, trying to sound unaffected, but Brendon can hear the hurt. “So she left me.”

“Left you?” Brendon repeats.

“She literally drove me to an orphanage and told me to get out and then drove away with me chasing the car and crying,” he says bluntly, and Brendon gapes. What kind of mother could do that to her child? Especially to someone like _Ryan_.

“God, Ryan, I’m—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Ryan interrupts timidly, clearing his throat and continuing. “Anyway, I have no idea where she went. They never found her. But I was put into a foster home after that. I went from one home to the next because nobody wanted to deal with me,” he says bitterly. “But then there was this one family. Mr. and Mrs. Conner and their seven-year-old daughter, Ally. They were always nice to me, and they understood about my condition.”

“Ally ended up being like a real little sister to me,” he bites his lip, blinking hard. “For the two years I lived with them, she was my best friend,” he confides. Brendon can already sense that this story is going to be heartbreaking. “One day we were playing in the woods. We’d play hide-and-seek there a lot,” he shrugs. “And I couldn’t find her anywhere. I was starting to get really worried because it had been nearly half an hour that I’d been looking for her.” He pauses to take a deep, shuddery breath. “I found a creek, and Ally was walking _so close_ to the edge, and fuck, I knew she would fall before it even happened.” Brendon can see tears falling down Ryan’s face now. “She fell in, and I couldn’t move. I just _watched_ while she screamed and tried to keep her head above the water. But I was frozen in place, and I was trying to move, I really was, because I would have given my life for her, but I was fucking paralyzed to that spot. I couldn’t get my voice to work. I couldn’t do anything, and it was all my fault that she died,” Ryan chokes out, finally stopping and collapsing into Brendon’s side, soaking his shirt with incessant tears.

“She’s gone, Brendon,” he cries, his tiny frame shaking. “I just let her die, and then my foster parents sent me back. The orphanage sent me here and- I just don’t have _anyone_ anymore.”

Brendon’s never been so angry for another person in his whole life. If he knew where Ryan’s mother was, he’d fucking kill her, because all of this is _her_ fault, and he doesn’t think she really deserves to be alive.

“Ryan, it wasn’t your fault,” Brendon stresses. “You couldn’t control what happened. You _wanted_ to help her, but you couldn’t. You can’t blame yourself for that.” Again, Brendon doesn’t know shit about making people feel better, but he has to at least try. He has to try for Ryan. “And you do have someone. You have me,” he says, brushing Ryan’s hair back. “You have someone that actually cares about you,” Brendon says a bit quieter, his stomach twisting.

“No, _nobody_ cares about me,” Ryan shakes his head, pulling back from Brendon.

“Yes, I—”

“No, you’re lying,” Ryan insists, tears still falling. He starts pulling on his hair.

“Ryan, stop,” Brendon says softly, pulling Ryan’s hands from his hair. “Ryan,” he repeats, but Ryan keeps shaking his head.

“No, you just—”

“ _Ryan_ ,” Brendon interrupts, desperate to do something to calm him down. He doesn’t know what else to do, so he does the only thing left. He kisses him. It’s hard at first, Ryan making a surprised noise and going rigid. Brendon worries for a moment that it was a bad idea, but then slowly, Ryan relaxes into him, his lips moving and his hand skittering across Brendon’s chest. And Brendon is kind of mind-blown by how much he realizes he’s _wanted_ this. It was never a thought that was apparent in his mind, but it’s like suddenly it’s the _only_ thing in his mind. Ryan Ryan Ryan. Ryan’s lips. Ryan’s tongue sliding in his mouth. Ryan’s soft cheeks and Ryan’s long fingers clutching Brendon’s shirt.

Just Ryan.

And before he knows it, Brendon is lying down on his bed with Ryan on top of him, kissing him breathlessly and sliding his hands up Brendon’s shirt. And honestly, Brendon never pegged Ryan as being this animated. He guesses it’s because he just needs somebody right now.

Ryan makes his way down Brendon’s neck, alternating between hard kisses and tentative kitten licks. And god, Brendon wants _more,_ but he’s supposed to be the one making Ryan feel good, so he swiftly flips them over, catching Ryan off-guard. He takes a moment to look him over. He’s not crying anymore. He’s actually kind of smiling.

“Are you… are you okay with this?” Brendon asks, cupping Ryan’s face.

“I like you,” Ryan replies simply, his smile widening. Brendon smiles back, leaning down and kissing him again. The kissing is heavy again for a few minutes, tongues tangling and gasps mixing together, but then Ryan whimpers, and not the good kind. He pulls his mouth away, whispering, “Stop, please.” Brendon is hurt for a minute, thinking that Ryan was telling him to stop, but then he realizes he’s not talking to him. “Not now,” Ryan pleads. Brendon decides the best thing to do is distract him, so he kisses him again before leaning back and undoing Ryan’s pants. Ryan’s obviously conflicted over whether to pay attention to Brendon or the voice in his head, but when Brendon gets his hand around his dick, Ryan whimpers in the way that Brendon wants him to.

“Bren- wh—”

“Shh,” Brendon shushes, leaning down and flattening his tongue on the head of Ryan’s cock. Ryan’s whole body jerks, his hands immediately going to Brendon’s hair.

“Oh, _oh_ ,” he breathes, obviously never having felt anything like this before. Brendon realizes a little late that that must have been Ryan’s first kiss too. He likes the thought of being his first everything.

Brendon closes his eyes and hollows his cheeks around Ryan’s cock, swallowing him down as far as he can. He’s mindful of his teeth as he bobs up and back down again, using his hand on what his mouth can’t cover.

“Brendon, god,” Ryan murmurs, his hands tightening in Brendon’s hair, eliciting a pleased moan from Brendon around Ryan’s cock. “Fuck, you’re good at that,” he whimpers. Brendon lets his tongue flick over Ryan’s slit, teasing, over and over until Ryan is practically writhing on the bed, begging. “Please, god, _please_ ,” he moans when Brendon starts to lower his mouth onto him again. Brendon gives one more playful lick before taking the head into his mouth once more, sucking almost softly and running a hand up Ryan’s abdomen. Brendon knows Ryan is still hearing the voice, because he’s not completely relaxed, and every time Brendon glances up, Ryan is shaking his head or mumbling to himself.

He just wants to make him feel better, and to make him not so fucking _sad_ anymore, or lonely. He doesn’t want him to feel like that anymore. He keeps his mouth moving at a steady pace, groaning every time the hands in his hair tighten. He finds himself pushing his hips into the mattress, trying to get some kind of friction, because the sounds Ryan is making are turning him on a ridiculous amount.

He knows Ryan’s close, so he pulls off, looking up at him through lust-clouded eyes. “Ryan,” he says hoarsely, and when Ryan looks, Brendon puts his hands on Ryan’s stomach, leans back down and takes his cock into his mouth again, and waits for him to get the hint. Ryan’s eyes kind of widen, and he thrusts his hips experimentally, his cock slipping further into Brendon’s mouth. Brendon nods, signaling that it’s okay, and Ryan knots his fingers in his hair, holding his head in place while he bucks his hips forward, fucking Brendon’s mouth.

Ryan makes sure not to be too rough, afraid of choking Brendon, and his thrusts become erratic with the building pleasure in the pit of his stomach. “God,” Ryan groans, the multiple sensations of Brendon’s mouth and his hands roaming over him bringing him closer to the edge. He moans louder when Brendon’s nails scratch gently down his stomach. “Brendon,” he says quietly as he comes hard in his mouth, still clutching his hair and riding it out. He moans quietly one more time before stopping, loosening his grip on Brendon’s hair but not letting go just yet, running his hands through it and smoothing it down.

Brendon swallows what’s left in his mouth, crawling up and meeting Ryan’s mouth halfway for a kiss. He’s painfully hard at this point, nearly to the point of coming just from getting Ryan off, but he’s not focusing on himself right now.

“Hey, why don’t you sleep here tonight,” he suggests in between kisses. Ryan smiles against his mouth, nodding, and slides his hand down to Brendon’s pants, trying to undo the button. “Oh, um, don’t worry about me,” Brendon stops him. “You don’t have to.”

“No, hey, let me,” Ryan murmurs, latching onto Brendon’s neck and simultaneously sliding his hand into his pants. Brendon lets his eyes close, lets himself be kissed. His hips rock gently in time with Ryan’s hand stroking over his dick, and he drops his head into the crook of Ryan’s neck, breathing hard against it.

It doesn’t take him very long to come at all with Ryan’s spindly fingers wrapped tight around him. He bites down on Ryan’s neck, moaning into it until he finishes. Ryan removes his hand, wiping it on the sheets, and wraps himself around Brendon, looking sleepy and sated.

The mood is too good to interrupt with talking, so instead, Brendon just pulls the blanket over them and goes to sleep.

* * *

Brendon doesn’t realize until the next morning that he’s made a terrible, terrible mistake. He stares at Ryan in his bed, breathing deeply and still asleep, and he feels awful. Ryan was upset last night, and Brendon totally took advantage of him. He needed someone to listen and to just be there for him, not blow him. Brendon knows from experience that sex and emotional instability shouldn’t go hand in hand.

So when Ryan wakes up, stretches with a sleepy smile, and leans over to kiss Brendon, Brendon can’t do anything but pull away. Ryan draws back quickly, his smile fading. “What?” he asks worriedly.

God, Brendon doesn’t want to do this.

“Look, Ryan,” he starts, and Ryan is immediately filled with dread by the tone of his voice. “Last night, um. That- that shouldn’t have happened,” Brendon says quietly, not meeting Ryan’s uncomprehending gaze.

“Why not?” Ryan asks immediately, sitting up and looking accusingly at Brendon. “What did I do wrong?”

“God, _nothing_ , you’re- you’re perfect, it’s just,” Brendon sighs, biting his lip because he knows this won’t go well. “I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you like that. You were upset, and that’s not what I should have done.”

“But you weren’t,” Ryan protests. “I _wanted_ to, Brendon.”

“I know, but you don’t get it. It’s not you—”

“I see,” Ryan interrupts quietly. “So what, you get what you want from me and then that’s it?” he asks incredulously. “You don’t even like me, do you?”

“What? No, Ryan, listen—”

“No!” Ryan yells, getting off the bed. “I’m not going to sit here and listen to you lie to me! I can’t believe you just used me like that!” He brings a hand to his face, clawing himself a little.

“It’s not like that!” Brendon stresses, standing up as well. “I do like you, but—”

“Bullshit!” Ryan laughs bitterly. “I thought you cared about me.” He turns around and starts to open the door.

“Ryan, please listen,” Brendon tries, but he’s already out the door. Brendon sits back down, putting his head in his hands and sighing.

Fuck.

* * *

Ryan avoids Brendon after that, for days. Every time Brendon’s in their room, Ryan isn’t. And if he passes him in the hallway, Ryan just hangs his head and keeps walking. And Brendon feels like the biggest fucking jerk in the world. Ryan completely misunderstood him though. He _does_ like him. He really does, but he knows that Ryan can’t help but automatically assume the worst about everything.

So Brendon decides to confront him, to make him understand. He waits around until when he knows Ryan will be in their room, and then he goes.

When he walks in, even though Ryan is sitting on his bed with his back turned, he tenses, the muscles going still under his shirt.

“Ryan,” Brendon starts in a pleading tone. “Ryan, _please_ , just—” he cuts himself off when he gets close enough to see what Ryan’s doing. “Ryan, what the fuck?” he says devastatingly. There are tears running down Ryan’s face and when Brendon looks down at his arm, all he sees is red. There is a row of angry, thrashing cuts along his arm and wrist, blood pouring out of them. They’re obviously deep, and Brendon’s never felt this anguished in his entire life. “What are you doing?” Brendon says angrily, snatching the pocket knife from Ryan and throwing it down.

“I just hate myself, Brendon,” Ryan cries silently. “I don’t want to exist anymore. You were the only person I had and you don’t want me, so what am I supposed to do? I can’t keep living my life like this, because it’s _completely_ pointless,” he says, and a violent shudder runs through his body. Brendon realizes he really needs to stop the bleeding.

“Fuck, Ryan,” Brendon chokes out, grabbing Ryan and dragging him into the attached bathroom. This is all Brendon’s fault. He can’t believe he made Ryan do this to himself. He made him want to _die_. “God, you _idiot_ , what would I have done if you’d killed yourself, huh?” he asks, and Ryan just stares at the ground.

“I doubt you would have cared.”

Brendon looks up at the uncharacteristic deadness in Ryan’s voice. He takes a minute to look at his face and god, he looks absolutely _heartbroken_. And it kind of breaks Brendon’s heart knowing that he caused that look.

“Ryan,” he says softly, taking his face into his hands. Ryan looks at him with pitiful, hurt-filled eyes and Brendon just kisses him. Ryan lets out a dry sob, wrapping his arms around Brendon’s neck and pulling him closer. There’s blood everywhere and Brendon can feel it but he doesn’t care. He pulls Ryan up to sit on the counter, holding onto his waist tight and kissing him once more before dropping his head to Ryan’s neck and just hugging him. “You can’t do that to me,” Brendon says, his voice cracking. “You can’t hurt yourself like this.”

“You can’t keep hurting yourself either,” Ryan replies gently, running his fingers over Brendon’s hipbone that’s protruding more than it should. Brendon doesn’t want to answer. He can’t promise something that he knows is a lie.

“Let me fix you,” Brendon sighs, grabbing Ryan’s arm and wiping the blood off carefully with a wet towel. Ryan bites his lip to keep from wincing, and Brendon presses the towel down to try and get the bleeding to stop. “God, I’m sorry you thought I didn’t want you,” Brendon says. “I really do care about you.”

“Sorry for not believing you,” Ryan murmurs, leaning his head on Brendon’s shoulder. Brendon takes the towel off, cleaning the wounds one more time and then bringing Ryan’s arm up to trail his lips over the cuts, pressing small kisses here and there. “You know, for a psycho killer you’re really kinda sweet,” Ryan laughs. Brendon wiggles his eyebrows playfully, giving Ryan a small smile. He’s the first person that’s been able to make Brendon smile in so long.

Once Brendon’s got Ryan all patched up, he grabs his hand and leads him back to their room, into Ryan’s bed. Their lips just kind of end up together without another thought. They lie down, Ryan slightly on top of Brendon, and the kisses are heated and full of passion, sending shocks into Brendon with every slide of Ryan’s lips against his own. And when Ryan slides his tongue in, Brendon moans at the taste of him, opening his mouth greedily and sucking on his tongue. He’s never been more turned on by mere kissing in his life.

“Brendon,” Ryan pants, breathing hotly on his neck, “Need you,” his voice cracks. Brendon slides Ryan’s shirt off, tossing it aside and running his hands over the warm skin. Ryan goes to take Brendon’s shirt off, but Brendon flinches, holding it down. “What?” Ryan asks, concerned.

“I, um,” Brendon swallows. “It’s just… I don’t want you to see me,” he whispers, and then Ryan gets it.

“You’re perfect,” Ryan assures him.

“No, no I’m not,” Brendon wipes away the single tear that had gathered in the corner of his eye. “I’m disgusting.”

“You’re perfect to me,” Ryan smiles at his own cheesy words, attempting to take off the shirt again, and Brendon lets him this time, but keeps his hands hovering there, as if ready to yank it back down if he gets the urge. Ryan pulls it off and throws it down, and he’s kind of shocked by what he sees.

Brendon is skinny, that much is obvious, but it’s _so_ much worse without clothes. Ryan runs a finger over every rib sticking out, down onto the sunken-in, nearly nonexistent stomach, and onto his hipbones. He looks like he hasn’t eaten in months.

“Bren,” Ryan says, a look more than despondent on his face. Brendon just looks away, ashamed, and Ryan doesn’t want that. He leans down, pressing a kiss to Brendon’s scarily visible collarbone, making his way down and kissing over his ribs before stopping on his stomach. Brendon reaches for him, pulling him up and crashing their lips together again, unbuckling Ryan’s belt. Ryan leans back to take his pants off, and Brendon hesitantly starts undoing his own.

Ryan slides them off for him, throwing both pairs onto the floor. He tries not to make his staring at Brendon’s emaciated body obvious, but it’s kind of difficult.

Brendon rolls them over, not saying a word before shedding Ryan’s boxers. He thinks about blowing him again, because he liked that, but then he gets a better idea.

“Turn around,” he tells him.

“Why?” Ryan asks hesitantly.

“Just, trust me,” Brendon smiles, and Ryan turns over slowly. Brendon runs his hands down Ryan’s back and over the small swell of his ass. He leans down, running his tongue over the small of Ryan’s back and feeling him shiver. He pushes on the inside of Ryan’s thighs until he spreads his legs, and Brendon squeezes his  ass, spreading him apart so he can lick over the ring of muscle, teasing around it but not pushing in yet.

“Jesus, is that your _tongue_?” Ryan asks breathlessly. Brendon laughs, answering with another broad lick. “Oh, wow, _okay_ ,” Ryan exhales, pushing back against Brendon now. Brendon licks around his entrance, getting him wet, before pushing his tongue in. “ _Oh_ , fuck,” Ryan moans, pushing his ass back. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.” Brendon smiles at how enthusiastic Ryan’s being, remembering for future reference that he definitely likes this.

He licks inside of him, rolling his tongue slowly and with purpose, before sliding it in deeper, as deep as he can get it. Ryan is making frequent sounds now, whimpering and swearing left and right. Brendon removes his tongue, licking on the outside again and giving an experimental suck. Ryan’s back arches off the bed and he moans, “Brendon.”

Brendon sits up, receiving a whine from Ryan, and wipes his mouth, crawling back up and accepting the kiss that Ryan initiates. “God, that was,” Ryan shakes his head, unable to think of an acceptable word. He groans into Brendon’s mouth, biting on his lip.

“Fuck me,” Brendon says suddenly, and Ryan freezes. He pulls back with wide eyes.

“What?” he says, choking on air.

“Fuck me, please,” Brendon asks, his hands moving endlessly over Ryan’s soft skin.

“I, um. Bren, are you sure?” Ryan asks quietly, looking concerned. And yes, of course sex is always going to terrify Brendon on some level. How could it not? But he can’t always be scared.

“I want to, really,” Brendon smiles.

“Well, um. I- okay?” Ryan agrees, laughing a little. Brendon rolls so he’s underneath Ryan, and he wills himself to relax as Ryan removes his boxers. “You don’t have to be self-conscious,” Ryan murmurs softly, “You’re beautiful.”

Brendon doesn’t even have time to smile because suddenly Ryan’s kissing him again. The taste of Ryan is still in his mouth, and it’s something he doesn’t think he could forget.

Brendon grabs Ryan’s hand, bringing it to his mouth, and sucking on his fingers. Ryan’s breath hitches at the sensation, his eyes going half-lidded just from watching Brendon’s tongue move in-between the digits. Brendon can’t think about anything but how fucking _good_ Ryan’s perfect, long fingers are going to feel inside him. He releases his hand, guiding it down. Ryan gets the hint and tentatively brings a finger to press against Brendon’s entrance, biting his lip and leaning down to kiss Brendon when he slides it in.

Brendon makes a soft sound, pushing down on Ryan’s finger. The first one always feels good, but there’s always that feeling of _more, now_.

As if reading his mind, Ryan slides in another spit-slicked finger alongside the first, and Brendon winces a little at the slight sting of the stretch. When Ryan pushes his fingers in as far as they can go, Brendon writhes, barely keeping a moan at bay because he was absolutely right about this being really fucking good. Ryan spreads his fingers, stretching Brendon more with long strokes.

When he adds a third finger, Brendon almost doesn’t even notice the pain because at the exact same time, Ryan crooks his fingers, rubbing over that bundle of nerves that makes Brendon moan out loud, shoving his ass back onto Ryan’s fingers. “Right there, fuck,” he says, sounding out of breath. Ryan complies, pressing against that spot over and over until Brendon can’t take it anymore. “Stop, I need- now,” he rushes out, and Ryan quickly pulls his fingers out. Brendon glances at the bedside table, spotting a bottle of lotion and grabbing it. “Here,” he tosses it at Ryan, who squeezes out a small amount before throwing it down.

Ryan rubs the lotion over his cock, biting his lip and breathing through his nose. “Come on,” Brendon urges, lifting his hips for emphasis. Ryan presses the tip of his cock to Brendon’s ass, takes a deep breath, and pushes in all at once. Brendon chokes on a breath, clenching his hands in the sheets and willing himself to relax.

“Are you okay?” Ryan asks, his voice tight while he’s obviously trying to restrain himself from pushing forward.

“Yeah, yeah, keep going,” Brendon breathes. Ryan pulls back a little and pushes forward again, trying to loosen Brendon’s muscles. He keeps his thrusts shallow and smooth, not wanting it to be too much too fast. Brendon pulls him down for a kiss, now starting to rock back against his cock. “Fuck, Ryan,” Brendon whispers against his shoulder, closing his eyes and letting himself be fucked.

Ryan’s movements become sloppy suddenly, and he whimpers. “No, no please, go away,” he whispers. Brendon’s stomach sinks.

“Ryan, hey,” Brendon places a hand on his cheek looking at him directly. “Ignore him, okay? Focus on me, just block him out.” He holds the side of Ryan’s neck with one hand and his waist with the other, rocking back against him and never taking his eyes away.

“I can’t,” Ryan chokes out, still pushing into Brendon but slower now. “He never goes away unless I do what he says,” he admits.

“What is he telling you to do?” Brendon asks, trying to keep up with Ryan’s rhythm at the same time.

“To hurt you,” Ryan whispers, a tear falling down. “He keeps telling me to claw you, and make you bleed, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

Brendon swallows, thinking fast, or maybe not thinking at all when he blurts, “Claw me.” He can see the question in Ryan’s eyes so he continues. “Do it, come on. Claw me, make him go away. Don’t let him ruin this,” Brendon pleads. Ryan’s crying, leaning his head on Brendon’s chest and trying to keep his hips moving. “It’s okay, Ry, do it.”

Ryan slides a hand around to Brendon’s shoulder, rubbing it at first, before pushing his nails into the skin and dragging them down. It’s not hard enough to bleed; Brendon doesn’t even flinch – actually, he shudders, surprised to find himself groaning and pushing his ass down hard onto Ryan’s cock. He rolls them over suddenly so he’s on top of Ryan, riding him. Ryan understands and brings both of his hands to Brendon’s shoulders before clawing down his back, hard. Brendon moans, sinking down onto Ryan’s cock and throwing his head back. He actually… he _likes_ it. Ryan figures this out and continues, moving his hands to Brendon’s lower back.

Ryan snaps his hips into him hard before dragging his nails over Brendon’s ass, eliciting a jumbled mess of indecipherable words and various sounds from Brendon. “Brendon, _god_ ,” Ryan groans, not even realizing that the voice in his head has left. He goes to claw his back again, feeling wetness and realizing that he actually did make him bleed. He hesitates, not wanting to hurt him.

“Please, Ryan,” Brendon moans, falling over so their chests are pressed together. Ryan can see Brendon’s back now, covered in various scratches with beads of blood trickling off them. He claws down them again, fucking Brendon harder. “God, _yes_ ,” Brendon moans again, sloppily kissing Ryan and nearly choking when he hits his prostate dead on. “You feel s-so good,” Brendon whimpers, his whole body shaking at this point.

Ryan presses his mouth to Brendon’s neck, bites down harshly and Brendon comes on Ryan’s stomach, streaking it with white and moaning out his name. Ryan keeps thrusting into him, hands on his ass, moaning quiet “yeah”s. Brendon leans down to suck on his neck, gently rocking back against him. All it takes is for Brendon to murmur, “Come on, come for me,” into Ryan’s neck and then he’s coming inside him, a slew of curses and moans falling from his kissed-red mouth. Brendon’s breath stutters at the sensation of warm liquid filling him.

Brendon collapses onto the bed, completely worn-out and _incredibly_ well-fucked. “Oh my god, that’s the best sex I’ve ever had in my fucking life,” he pants, his voice wrecked to hell, turning over to face Ryan who is lying there with a stupid smile.

“Me too,” he sighs. “Well, it’s the _only_ sex I’ve ever had, but still.”

Brendon laughs, snuggling closer and suddenly feeling very affectionate. “For a virgin you’re really fucking good,” he jokes.

“For a serial killer so were you,” Ryan shoots back.

“I’m not a _serial killer_ ,” Brendon laughs, biting playfully at Ryan’s shoulder. He sits up to go get his pillow from his bed, but a sharp gasp from Ryan makes him sit back down. “What?”

“You, um. Your back,” Ryan mumbles, running his hand gently over Brendon’s back, which he just now notices is sensitive. “I’m sorry,” Ryan says quietly, his smile gone now.

“No, I liked it,” Brendon rushes out. “I mean I didn’t think I would, I was just trying to help you, but it felt _really_ good.” He looks at the bed where he was laying and notices blood stains. He wonders how they’ll explain that to the nurses.

“Okay,” Ryan sighs, chewing the inside of his lip. Brendon fetches his pillow before lying down beside him again, giving him a reassuring peck and pulling the blanket over them.

That night, for the first time since Brendon can remember, he doesn’t have a nightmare.

  


* * *

The next week, Gerard is allowed out of his room. It’s only been two weeks since he’s been in it, but apparently Frank was going so crazy without him that they had no choice but to let them see each other. Brendon doesn’t know exactly what’s going on between them, but he passed by the lounge earlier to see Frank in Gerard’s lap, while Gerard spoke softly in his ear before kissing him, and Brendon was shocked to see that side of Gerard compared to the side that stabbed someone. He guesses that people you love bring out the best in you.

As for Ryan, well. Brendon’s never been as happy as he is right now. Ryan makes him feel things he never thought he would experience. He never thought he’d find someone as fucked up as him, someone that understands him. But Ryan does.

Brendon’s never even been close to being in love, but he thinks he might be falling for Ryan.

Even though they’re both happy together, it’s still not happy enough. And that’s not something that has to do with their feelings for each other, because those have encompassed everything, but it’s just that they both have so much underlying hurt and pain in them, that it’s hard for anything really to make them truly, completely happy. Even love can’t make them forget.

Brendon’s still not eating. He and Ryan sit together every day, and Ryan watches helplessly as Brendon stares at his food with blank eyes, pretending to eat whenever a doctor passes. On the days that he does eat, he just goes straight to the bathroom and throws it all up anyway.

Brendon passed by the bathroom mirror with his shirt off yesterday and the sight made him sick. He kneeled over the toilet and threw up, Ryan running in to rub his back and help him up. He’s getting weaker every day that he doesn’t eat, and Ryan’s begged him to eat _just a little_ but Brendon won’t.

And Ryan, he stills feels utterly alone, even though he has Brendon. He still hears a malicious voice in his head that he can’t seem to escape, and he still has manic episodes.

Really, the only thing they both have left is each other.

* * *

It’s Wednesday, and Brendon is at his therapy session. Dr. Clark is sitting across from him, waiting for him to talk when she knows he won’t.

Brendon finds it funny, actually, that he’s supposed to be getting better here and he’s only gotten worse. The doctors haven’t even _noticed_ that he’s not eating.

“How about we talk about Ryan?” she starts. Brendon tries to ignore the fluttering in his stomach at the mention of the name.

“What about him?” he asks coolly.

“Well, how’s he affected you?”

For once, Brendon decides to give her an honest answer. “He’s the best thing that’s happened since I’ve been here,” he says, looking her straight in the eyes. Her eyebrows go up, obviously surprised by the answer.

“Well, that’s fantastic that you two have become so close with each other.”

Brendon has a hard time holding back a smirk.

“I just… I feel so comfortable talking to him,” he admits. “He makes me feel better.”

“So, you’ve talked to him about your personal life then?” she asks skeptically.

“If by ‘personal life’ you mean the fact that my dad raped me and I’m bulimic and tried to kill myself, then yes,” he says bluntly. Dr. Clark’s mouth opens and closes, and her eyes look sad.

“Oh, Brendon,” she starts apologetically. “I didn’t meant to – I wasn’t—”

“I know,” Brendon interrupts with a sigh. “It’s just, the only time I can forget about all that stuff is when I’m with Ryan. He makes me feel like a different person,” he admits, having no idea why he’s suddenly talking to Dr. Clark at all, let alone about stuff this personal.

“Are you two… more than friends?” she asks slowly. Brendon pauses, biting his lip and looking away. “It’s okay,” she says, tapping her nameplate on her desk. “Doctor-patient confidentiality, I can’t tell anyone anything you say to me,” she smiles kindly. Brendon feels bad for hating her so much for no reason before.

“Well, um. Yeah, we are,” he mumbles. She nods, like she’d expected as much.

“I think he’s good for you,” she finally decides.

Brendon silently agrees.

* * *

A boy named Mikey committed suicide.

Ryan and Brendon are watching a movie in the lounge, and everyone around them is talking about it. Brendon doesn’t know who it is, but Ryan must, because his eyes get huge.

“That’s horrible,” he mutters. “He was so nice.”

“Who was he?” Brendon asks.

“He was always really quiet,” Ryan says. “Kinda lanky, always carried comic books everywhere.” Brendon’s mind flashes back to the night he and Ryan sat in here watching _Donnie Darko_ and he remembers the boy in the corner reading a comic book. “He was Gerard’s brother,” Ryan says.

“Wow, he’s probably freaking out,” Brendon comments.

They don’t think much of it. It’s sad of course, but neither of them was close with him.

So they just continue watching the movie.

* * *

Nobody ever thought this would happen. Of course it was expected for Gerard to freak out, but nobody anticipated that this is how he’d react.

It’s silent in the lounge, everybody either too shocked or too sad to speak. Brendon is feeling a bit of both.

He hears whispers of, “How did he get another knife?” and, “But why Frank?” Nobody really knows what to think.

Gerard and Frank are dead. Somehow, he got a hold of another knife. He stabbed himself, but not before stabbing Frank too. And nobody knows why; nobody gets it. Brendon does.

Gerard loved Frank, and he didn’t want to leave him here. So he did what any fucked up mental person in love would do; he took him with him.

Brendon’s never been one for tales of romantic tragedies, but he thinks he gets it.

* * *

Love is not something either Brendon or Ryan is familiar with. Brendon grew up believing that what his dad did to him every night was love. He’s never experienced the real thing. His perception of it is so fucked, and therefore he’s confused as to how he’d be able to tell if he was in love.

Ryan sighs, turning over and wrapping his arms around Brendon. “Brendon,” he whispers.

“Hm?”

Ryan pauses for a moment, leaning in to kiss Brendon’s neck. “I love you.”

It’s so simple, the way he just says it. There’s no big declaration or nervousness or fear – he just said it like it’s something he’s been saying his whole life. And Brendon supposes that that’s how you know you’re in love; if you can know with everything in you that you love someone, if the words come out so effortlessly that it just seems natural, that’s got to be real.

So Brendon doesn’t think twice before saying, “I love you, too.” Because he just knows.

“Could you show me?” Ryan asks.

“What?”

Ryan looks up from Brendon’s chest. “Show me how you love me,” he mumbles, leaning up and kissing him. He slides his hands up Brendon’s shirt, feeling how the bones are sticking out even more now. Ryan straddles him, kissing his neck and touching him anywhere he can. “I want you,” Ryan nearly growls, grabbing one of Brendon’s hands and sucking on his fingers just like Brendon did.

“Oh,” Brendon says, understanding now. “Are you sure?” Ryan doesn’t say anything, just nods. So Brendon complies, carefully sliding a finger into him and working him open. He can tell Ryan likes it by the way he bites his lip.

He doesn’t have to finger him long before he makes him go crazy with want, moaning and begging.

When he first slides his cock into him he can see the pain on Ryan’s face, the way his eyebrows crease and his mouth tightens into a line. Ryan leans down to bite at Brendon’s neck, claw at his shoulders, while Brendon fucks him. He starts to like it eventually, pushing himself down onto Brendon’s dick and moaning with his mouth attached to some part of Brendon’s body at all times.

“Fuck, do that again,” Ryan says when Brendon pushes at a different angle. He keeps it that way, loving how Ryan completely goes out of focus and just moans and whimpers until Brendon fists his cock once and he comes. “I wanna,” Ryan breathes harshly, slumping onto Brendon. “I wanna feel you come,” he says, kissing him hard. Brendon moans into his mouth, thrusting a few more times before he comes. Ryan closes his eyes and drops his mouth open when he feels it, kissing Brendon again while he groans helplessly.

Brendon’s never been a cuddler, but well, he can’t help it with Ryan. So they cuddle, wrapped together in a blanket, Brendon stroking his fingers through Ryan’s hair.

“You wanna know something else?” Ryan says into the silence.

“Hm?”

“I still want to die,” he whispers. Brendon should be upset by this, or concerned at least. And he has no idea what he’s supposed to say in a situation like this, so he just says the truth.

“Me too.”

* * *

It’s not hard, really, to plan out your own suicide. Not if you want it so badly. It’s not hard to figure out how to get the pills, when and where you’re going to do it, who you need to call first. It’s the easiest thing in the world.

“Hey, Mom,” Brendon says into the phone, Ryan right beside him, holding his hand.

“ _Hey, sweetie_ ,” she greets, and he can tell she’s smiling. “ _How are you?_ ”

“Um,” he clears his throat. He is not going to cry. This needs to be short and simple. “I’m so much better, Mom. Really, I’m great,” he lies. “I might even be ready to come home soon.” He knows this will probably make it harder for her to understand later on, but he just can’t do this without telling her what she wants to hear, so she can be happy for once, even if it’s only for a single day.

“ _That’s great! God, I’m so proud of you_ ,” she says. “ _I knew I’d get my old Brendon back_.”

He feels tears prick at his eyes and he blinks hard. “Hey, I’ve gotta go, but, just – I love you, okay?” he says honestly, trying his best to fake sounding happy.

“ _Aw, okay, I love you too, sweetie. Call me again soon_.”

“I will, I promise,” he lies.

“ _Alright, bye!_ ”

“Bye.”

Ryan puts his arm around Brendon, tugging him close and just holding him.

“If you don’t want to do it anymore—”

“I do,” Brendon interrupts. “It’s just – it’s hard.”

“I know,” Ryan says quietly. “I’m sorry.” There’s really not a proper way to go about all this. There’s not a certain way of speaking that’s considered acceptable in this situation.

Ryan pulls his knees to his chest, looking at Brendon almost sadly. “Do you think we’re doing the right thing?” he asks. Brendon doesn’t answer right away, because it’s hard to think of what they’re doing as the ‘right thing.’ It’s not the right thing really, but it’s the right thing for them.

“Yeah,” he answers honestly. “Nobody understands us, Ryan. Nobody ever will. And I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of being unhappy every second of my life.” Brendon looks over at Ryan, smiling a little. “Well, not _every_ second.”

Ryan smiles, lying back on the bed, Brendon following suit. “So we’re really doing this?” Brendon asks quietly.

“Yeah,” Ryan answers, pulling a small plastic bag from his pocket. “I can’t do this anymore, you know? You don’t know what it’s like to live being scared of a voice that belongs to someone who only exists in your head. I’m tired of constantly worrying that someone is going to hurt me. I hate being this way,” he finishes.

“Yeah,” Brendon’s voice sounds hollow. He raises his shirt up, looking over at the mirror on the wall and seeing his sunken-in stomach. “I hate being this way too.”

Ryan runs his hand across Brendon’s ribs, sliding down his stomach until he reaches his hand, lacing their fingers together. When he pulls it back, Brendon feels the pills in his hand. He has no idea what they are, but Ryan said they would work, so he’s trusting him.

He’s completely aware that this isn’t going to be some easy, slowly-falling-asleep thing. He knows all too well from last time that that’s not what happens. They’ll feel it, and they might even end up choking on their own vomit.

Brendon doesn’t care as long as it _works_.

He feels Ryan cuddle closer to him, pressing kisses to his neck. “We’ll be okay,” he whispers, moving from his neck to his lips. It’s a different kiss than usual this time, slow and soft instead of fast and needy. It’s fitting, Brendon thinks as Ryan’s tongue mixes with his own. Ryan pulls back no more than an inch, bringing his hand up and putting two pills on his tongue before kissing Brendon again, transferring one of the pills. They add more gradually, until Brendon’s kissing is getting sloppy and he loses count of how many they’ve consumed.

“I love you,” Ryan says with conviction, and he almost looks happy.

“I love you, too,” Brendon whispers, wrapping his arms around Ryan.

“At least I’m not dying a virgin,” Ryan jokes, his words slurring a little.

“Are you really making jokes right now?” Brendon asks, but he’s smiling. He wishes everything could be this effortless all the time.

“Can’t think of a better way to go, Brendon Urie,” Ryan smiles against his cheek, kissing him again.

“I’m glad I came here,” Brendon remarks, and what they’re saying isn’t even connected anymore, both of them a little out of it. “Glad I found you.”

“Me too,” Ryan sighs. “Because I would have done this anyway, but it’s better when you’re not alone.” For a minute, Brendon thinks they shouldn’t be as calm as they are about this. But it’s something that he’s been wanting for a long time. It’s a resigned feeling, not scary anymore. He wants to be put out of his misery.

“Are you scared?” Brendon asks, running his fingers through Ryan’s soft hair.

“A little,” Ryan admits. “But at least I have you.”

“I don’t think I could have done this without you,” Brendon says, his eyelids getting heavy. Ryan pauses, reaching down and locking their hands together again.

“I’ve always thought that love is sort of like suicide,” Ryan says, sounding far away. “I mean, they go hand in hand. There’s no better reason to die than out of love.”

And he’s right. Isn’t that why they’re doing this? Because they love each other? There’s nothing else for them here, because the only reason they’ve both held on this long was so that they could find each other.

“Never really felt loved until you came along,” Brendon murmurs, feeling somewhere between wanting to pass out and vomit. He hears sniffling, and looks over to see Ryan crying.

“I just,” Ryan starts. “I can’t wait for all of this to finally be over,” he explains. Brendon understands that feeling more than almost anything. This is the only way out for them. It’s the only place they can go where their pasts can’t catch up with them.

Brendon could make up thoughts about how they’ll be happy forever in the ‘afterlife’ or whatever it is people seem to believe happens after death these days. But he doesn’t know what’s going to happen, what it’s going to be like, or if he’ll be any happier. Maybe he just won’t _be_ anymore.

But along his way, he stumbled upon Ryan, the quiet, helpless boy that Brendon never imagined would mean something to him.

He means everything to him.

And so they lie there, holding hands, drifting in and out of consciousness, waiting for the not-so-happy ending that they both always imagined for themselves. Brendon thinks about what Ryan said; ‘Love is like suicide.’ It makes sense to him. When you love someone, you’re taking a chance on them, throwing yourself into something that causes a lot of heartbreak in the end. And if you’re lucky, you get it right the first time. You’ll go through a lot of pain and anguish along the way, but it’s all got to be worth it in the end. Love either ends up in happiness or misery.

Just like suicide.  


**End.**

  


**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Scent Of Dead Skin on a Linoleum Floor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10703157) by [TaylorLives](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaylorLives/pseuds/TaylorLives)




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